A Blip on the Radar
by nikkistew2
Summary: Ana is not pleased to find out that she's pregnant after Ray's accident. Will what Christian finds on Ana's desk spell their end?
1. Chapter 1

"A Blip on the Radar"

Ana is not pleased to find out that she's pregnant after Ray's accident. Will what Christian finds on Ana's desk spell their end?

 **Prologue & Chapter 1: The Moment I Said It**

Ana was stunned; she knew her shots were current. The appointments Hannah cancelled weren't even for the shot. She hadn't been feeling well and she wanted some reassurance that all was working like it should. Her body didn't seem to be acclimatizing too well to the shot and that was about the only change to her daily regimen. Apparently, the shot must've been a dud, if it ever worked at all. Then again, against the sheer volume of ejaculate she was exposed to, her eggs probably never stood a chance.

"This cannot be happening to me," she mutters bitterly to herself. "What a birthday present! This day is just the gift that keeps on giving."

Ana is changing clothes, preparing for bed.

Christian walks in gingerly, holding a crumpled brochure, "Were you even going to tell me," he asked with a broken voice.

"Of course I was going to inform you. Dr. Greene told me that I would need at least two to four weeks' recovery time before resuming vaginal sex. I was thinking we could arrange to have the procedure in the next few weeks. I have an authorization form for you to sign."

"No! NO! You can't do this!"

"Christian, you don't want a baby right now, if ever. Even though you promised me children, I never saw it happening. And it wouldn't be happening NOW if the shot hadn't run out."

"If my swimmers overcame the shot, it was obviously meant to be. And I am not going to sign anything except for our baby's birth certificate!"

"You're not thinking clearly. Trust me, we're going to be up to our armpits in diapers and vomit. And shit! We were only married a minute and this happened! You wanted to show me the world and I want to see it! So far, I've basically only seen this apartment since I met you. I just turned 22!"

"We can still see the world, Ana. We'll just have the little invader with us."

"I've spent months being called a gold-digger; The last thing I need people accusing me of trapping you, too. This is just a little blip on our radar, but we can fix this!"

"This isn't the kind of situation you 'rectify' Ana. It's a child. OUR child. It's here inside you, right now. And it's going to stay here until it's born."

He moves over to Ana gingerly, gently placing both hands over her womb. "This is our future. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you both happy and safe."

"You say that now, but when push comes to shove, and everything doesn't follow the great Christian Grey's Blueprint for a Better Tomorrow, I'll be raising this baby all by myself. And I'm . . I'm not going to be a married single parent.

"I'm not going to have to explain why only Sawyer and I pick them up for school. I'm not going to be the one who has to tell our son or daughter Daddy's not going to make it to his or her soccer game, ballet recital or graduation. Or witness you go thermonuclear the first time he calls a CPO Daddy!"

"I think I understand now. Would you be so anxious to terminate if the baby was mine?"

 _The moment I said it.  
The moment I opened my mouth.  
Lead in your eye lids  
Bulldoze the life out of me.  
I know what you're thinking.  
But darling you're not thinking straight.  
Suddenly things just happened, we can't explain_

Quickly advancing on Christian, a crack echoes in the bedroom as she slaps his face. She backs away trembling, her brilliant blue eyes dimmed. She goes to the closet, roughly pulling a full-length jacket off of its hanger, wearing it directly over her nightclothes, grabbing shoes as she proceeds to walk briskly out of the bedroom.

Turning on her heel, she said lowly, "I have to go. I can't trust myself in this apartment right now."

 _It's not even light out but you've somewhere to be.  
No hesitation no I've never seen you like this.  
And I don't like it  
I don't like it  
I don't like it at all._

"Just take off your coat and come to bed. I promise you everything will look better in the morning," Christian said, trying far too late to deescalate the rapidly deteriorating situation. But as Ana turned resolutely toward the door, something snapped inside him. He rapidly closed the distance, gripping her wrist, halting her progress. "You're not going to leave me, Ana. And I'm not going to let you leave this apartment," he stated firmly.

"Why, are you worried I'm going to whore myself out on the way to Kate's apartment? Don't concern yourself. Pretty sure I can't get any more pregnant and I'm also certain my shadows will be dogging my footsteps," she sneered, wresting her wrist out of his crushing grip, wincing as she broke his hold, keys and phone in hand.

 _Just put back the car keys or somebody's gonna get hurt.  
Who are you calling at this hour?  
Sit down, come round, I need you now.  
We'll work it all out, together.  
But we're getting nowhere tonight.  
Now sleep, I promise it'll all seem better somehow in time._

 _It's not even like that.  
Suddenly oh, you've somewhere to be.  
No hesitation oh, I've never seen you like this.  
You're scaring me you're scaring me you're scaring me to death._

"Don't turn away from me when I'm talking to you!"

"We're not talking about this anymore. We've discussed it, and I've told you what needs to happen. What's going to happen. When I come back, please have the release form signed. I have to do this as quickly as possible."

As Christian stands, frozen, Ana rushes to the door as if the hounds of hell are behind her. They probably will be. Soon. The last thing Ana heard as the elevators doors closed is the sound of the vase in the foyer crashing against the wall.

 _Don't oh (smash)_

 _With no hesitation…_


	2. Chapter 2

I NEED A BETA

A/N: Ana gives us a glimpse into her dark history, explains Kate's overwhelming influence, experiences a great loss and receives assistance from an unexpected source. ***Trigger Warnings***

 **Chapter 2: All of Me**

" _You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart, maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. You see two people and you think they belong together, but nothing happens. The thought of losing so much control over personal happiness is unbearable. That's the burden. Like wings, they have weight, we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens that allow us to fly."_

― _T.J. Thyne_

APoV

Christian will never know how lucky he was to be adopted by Carrick and Grace. On paper, I may have Ray's last name, but he never adopted me. You'd think it would be a given, considering I've spent more of my life with him, even more than Carla.

When Carla left Ray for Three, he even sent child support although I wasn't his child, legally or biologically. I certainly never saw much of it, if any. It must have all gone towards bills and things that Carla and Three wanted. I never even knew he had sent the money. I didn't find out until spring break, year one of UW when I was cleaning the house in Montesano. Though Ray is generally neat as a pin in most aspects of his life (I guess it's the Marine in him), when it comes to cooking and paperwork, he's helpless and hopeless. To say his desk was disorganized was to misstate the situation by a magnitude of 4.0… It could have been declared a disaster area.

Uncovering bank statements in my name from a bank I've never used, with checks bearing a signature that looked nothing like mine, was an awful shock. Even worse was the realization that the few times the account had been overdrawn, Ray had covered the overdrafts. And Ray's statements reflected that, for every dollar earned, a quarter was directly deposited to "my" account. Thousands of dollars that were never used for my benefit. I made my own money when I lived with Carla, doing odd-jobs from mowing lawns and walking dogs. I even watered plants for an older couple next door when they went on their monthly jaunts to Vegas. I drew the line at babysitting, though. It hurt too much to see parents who actually took care of their children. I was a latch-key kid from the time I could safety wear the cord for the keychain around my neck. While Carla never held down a nine-to-five job, when I turned ten she was often not home to unlock the door when I got home from school. I even paid all my school fees when Carla cried broke.

I should have known that Ray wouldn't leave me to flounder, but we never talk about things like that. If I had access to that money, I wouldn't have had to work so many hours at Claytons, to keep ahead of my student loans. Just one more dream Carla has snatched out of my hands and I can't even yell at her. First, it would do absolutely no good because arguing with Carla is an exercise in headache planning. She has an excuse for everything and she seems to be able to cry on demand. She may have made a great sub if she practiced more self-control and could come on demand, too. She seems so determined to please whatever man is in her life, the more demanding the better. Second, the money is long gone. Some of it may have been used to flee from her third husband, so I guess I can't begrudge her that too much. I would've gladly given her the money to divorce that evil bastard if I had known I had access to it. Third, I would have had to let Ray know what Carla had done and just no… He may have suspected based on my relative poverty, but I'll be damned if I'll ever be the one to confirm it for him.

Turning back to Dr. Greene, I hear words coming out of my mouth that I thought I'd never say. Theoretically, I was pro-life, but even I gave an internal sigh of relief when Carla made the decision to abort because I just couldn't imagine her with another child, especially the child of Three. I guess I also had enough youthful selfishness in my body to realize who would be their child's primary caregiver. I hated being an only child, and I would have loved for Ray to have another child, one with his blood running through his veins, but a bad case of mumps put paid to that. Loneliness was a real, physical entity in my life, especially when I'd been moved around for a year as a high school freshman. The few tenuous friendships I had managed to form through ten years of the Montesano school system slowly eroded as each friend eventually stopped communicating with me. I was a faithful letter writer but the friends I had were not, and Carla said we couldn't afford an Internet connection, so I couldn't even e-mail them. Therefore, one by one, my already shallow well of friends dried up. I found out a week before I went back to Ray that Three had a secret Internet connection. I mean how else could he have been able to access all his matchmaking websites and porn? I suppose child support paid for that and Carla's termination, too.

I'm sure Three knew about it because it was worth a couple acts of Dysfunctional Family Dinner Theatre before she had the procedure done. Unfortunately, I drew the short straw when the time came for her to go. She needed someone to go with her and I was elected by a voting margin of two (I didn't get to vote). Left wondering if Three would ever be expected to lift a finger to do anything for my mother, I accompanied her for what must have been one of the most surreal experience of my life. The clinic was sterile. There weren't even any plastic plants to soften the hard lines of the waiting room. The chairs were even boxy, sharp and quite hard to sit on. Bizarrely enough, there were Family Fun magazines in the reading rack. The entire room seem to reek of discomfort and disapproval. I tried to read Pride and Prejudice to take my mind off of the heavy atmosphere and as Lady Catherine quizzed Elizabeth about her sister's accomplishments, when suddenly, my mother squeezed my hand very hard. A tear had fallen to join a few others as she said, "Never get pregnant young, Ana. It ruins everything."

And with that statement, I guess my fate was sealed. I was no longer Annie Steele. I was Anastasia Rose Steele, nee Lambert, the life-ruiner and happiness-destroyer. After returning home, I was expected to cook a sumptuous steak dinner, which Carla only picked at, whilst Three, sitting at the head of the table, practically inhaled it and asked for seconds and another beer, which is just one more reason I don't care for beer, or steak.

I knew how deeply I loved Christian when I didn't refuse to eat it the day he so presumptuously ordered it for us after José's photographic debut. I still have issues with red meat. I have issues with many things. I lied to Christian when I said my parents never used corporal punishment. Though Ray has never struck me in my life, Carla has slapped me more than once and Three was just Three, I suppose. But could I really equate anything Carla and Three did to me with punishment considering I hadn't done anything to merit their treatment except exist? I've tried to forget the dark times in my life and usually I am fairly successful. Reading helped me tremendously, as it's so easy to escape my own reality for a time, then I'm usually so busy with work that I can defer those thoughts for a time.

After the procedure, which thankfully I was neither required or allowed to be in attendance, Carla saw fit to tell me that the tired smile on Frank Lambert's face was really just a remnant of a hangover from the night before when he tied one on with his buddies to celebrate being trapped by the base bicycle. The subsequent training accident which occurred the day after I was born is no longer a surprise, nor is the fact that Carla didn't receive any accidental death benefits. To be fair, she was coming out from under the effects of whatever anesthetic cocktail the surgeon administered, otherwise she may have never exposed so much about herself in front of witnesses. Stunned beyond tears, I was hesitant to question her further, lest she tell me further heartrending truths that shook the foundation of my world or made me feel guiltier about my continued, and seemingly unwanted, existence. I suppose if Christian had run anything other than a cursory background check on my parents, he'd have known the truth about me and disappeared like a bat out of hell. I'm as toxic as that stupid song Leila added to Christian's iPod.

Christian adhered to Grace's mantra of foreign language, martial art and musical instrument; I, on the other hand, mastered self-defense, self-delusion and home-economics. Necessity is indeed the mother of all fuckers. There are many things Christian will never know about me. He won't ever know the depths of my dismay when he chose the belt to hit me with. He'll never know that with every strike, I was transported to Texas with Three after he struck me to unconsciousness after I refused to let him bathe me when he'd slipped into the locked bathroom. Only waking up with my clothes and innocence intact assured me that he didn't violate me in my sleep. He'll never know that the last three months of living with Carla and her husband were filled with punishments, scenes without safe-words and an incredible shrinking underwear drawer. I don't want to know what happened to the contents. He'll also never know that it took over two years for me to speak to Carla even over the phone and that my trip to see her in Savannah was the first time I had spent time with her in person in several years. He'll also never know why I can hardly accept the smallest presents from him, yet I gleefully let Carla drop a couple grand shopping for additions to my work wardrobe. She could've bought me ten times as much and still been in the red compared to what she owed me. She still doesn't know that I know about the money. She didn't show up for my high school graduation, but I suppose she might have still been smarting from the verbal abuse I hurled at her when she didn't want to discuss everything that happened to me when I was under her care. So, when she didn't attend my college graduation because Bob hurt himself golfing, I put on my game face yet again. She's part of the reason I have no gag-reflex. Years of swallowing disappointment will do that for you.

The worse thing about Carla is that you would never suspect in a million years her careless cruelty and criminal neglect if you hadn't experienced it. However, once you catch the flavor of it, it's instantly recognizable. That experience allowed me to instantly see the Bitch Troll for what she was: an insidious, unrepentant child rapist. I guess that Christian had outlived his abuse by the time Elena got him in her clutches; it had been over 10 years since anyone had been able to physically abuse him. My "brush" with abuse was far fresher, and I was more than old enough to know the difference between good touches and bad ones when it began.

I miss Kate. Christian is so right and yet so wrong about her. She is just as tenacious, obnoxious, bossy and inappropriate as he thinks she is. She is, after all, a journalist and prying is their way of life, not to mention bread and butter. Besides, it's in her blood. But she's also saved me as many times as you could save a person without being responsible for their life. On the first day of school, she saved me from dropping out. My scholarships and my meager income would only be enough to cover a four-person dorm room, and through some computer mishap or human error, the room I had secured was unavailable. Unless I wanted to subsist on half a pack of Ramen a day, I was up the creek without a paddle. Dejected, I made to leave the registrar's office when a hand grabbed my arm and I heard a cultured voice asking, "Can you cook?"

I swear the heavens opened and angels sang with the relief I felt. I told her that I was a pretty good cook, and she told me that her parents were willing to rent a two-bedroom, on-campus apartment, but she'd better make better use of the kitchen than storing her shoes in the cabinets. Then, she added that she didn't want to live alone and that she could tell that I was a responsible person because she had seen me working in Clayton's a couple months before school started. She insisted in only taking what I would've paid for the 4-student dorm room in rent. She quickly became the best friend I ever had. If you never lived with her, you would assume she maintained her perfect GPA by sleeping with her professors. Strangers and acquaintances were only allowed to see the icy-shelled persona that she presented to the world. No one would guess how brilliant she was until they were spilling their guts on the front page of the highly popular university student newspaper that she became the editor of when merely a sophomore. She loves nothing better than to keep people off-balance because she says you'll only learn how people tick when they're under pressure. Even fewer would guess that she had the opportunity to serve as both homecoming queen and valedictorian, but she turned down the crown because she was afraid that being seen on a parade float would result in her not being taken seriously.

So when I signed the NDA stating I would never tell a soul about what happened between Christian and me, it never occurred to me that Christian's secrets would be so complex, or contribute to the distance between me and the closest person I had to a sibling. The night she confronted Christian and me with the copy of the contract, I felt as if she had lost all respect for me. While I defended our relationship as my choice, I couldn't help but realize that the sacrifices I had made to keep Christian happy were making everything I felt good about myself vanish.

Therefore, one of the best gifts Christian gave me upon our marriage, was legally nullifying the non-disclosure agreement that prefaced our relationship. I still wasn't anxious to share personal details about our relationship, but the sheer relief of not feeling gagged silent was quite empowering. This night especially, I needed the Tenacious Kate Kavanagh to tell me I was doing the right thing.

It seemed to take no time for Ana to arrive at Kate's apartment in Pike Place. Kate's Mercedes was parked out front, so Ana used her keys to enter the building. As she entered the apartment, not only did she notice that it was empty, it no longer felt as comfortable and familiar. As she thought about it, she realized that the apartment had felt less like home the moment Leila held her here at gunpoint. The feeling of homelessness was exacerbated by Christian comforting Leila and ordering her out. Now she wonders if she only moved in with Christian because the apartment no longer felt like home. But if that was the case, she feels even less welcome at Escala where the ghosts of the fifteen and Elena still haunt her. Will she ever have a place to call home, where she feels safe and loved? Her bedroom was bare as its only furnishings were her white wicker bedroom set and her closet was empty. She idly wondered which of her outfits he gave Leila to put on, or whether he dressed her in addition to bathing her. Now filled with desolation, she prepared to leave this empty symbol of her adulthood and independence.

She touches her stomach, wishing with all her heart that Christian would really love their baby, but how could she rely on the word of the man who stated it would be "the height of bad manners" to knock her up, or told her that the end of the contract meant the cessation of all contact when it was painfully obvious that he had remained in contact with Leila once their contract was over, even to the extent of supporting her financially? Their connection was palpable that dreadful night, and Christian would not leave with her although he had already retrieved the gun. Would he have felt so compassionate toward Leila had Leila shot her? Does Christian realize how low she felt when she saw him carrying Leila in his arms from this very building? Then, in her place of work, she is confronted by Leila and yet another past submissive. Will this be her life, constantly fending off or evading her husband's past lovers? Or attempting to stand up for herself against them, only for Christian to undermine her efforts?

All of her greatest fears were all realized when confronted with her pregnancy. That Christian would reject her or, even worse, their baby. That they might play happy families at first, only for him to betray her for another, less matronly, petite brunette who would be overjoyed at the opportunity for him to beat and fuck her. He has made it plain that he wants all of her attention. He's jealous of everyone and everything that separates them. So, when she came home, armed with brochures she grabbed from the waiting area and the lone ultrasound photo Dr. Greene insisted she take along with the authorization form that she was informed was required for married women in the state of Washington to legally have a termination done, she was completely undone at Christian's reaction. The only choices she felt that she had was pain now or pain later. She tried so hard to stay strong because she knew if she gave in, and their marriage went pear-shaped as a result of them starting a family, her agony would be overwhelming.

DGPoV

The doctor looked at Ana with pity when she stubbornly refused to look at the ultrasound screen as she took measurements with the internal probe. If Dr. Greene wasn't already completely convinced that Christian Grey was the biggest bastard in the state, Ana's tightly closed eyes and tearstained cheeks would've tipped the scales. Dr. Greene resolved at that moment to never take another call from Mr. Christian Trevelyan Grey as long as she lived. There weren't enough hot tubs and charitable donations made in her name to shower away the shame of dealing with someone who could have caused Anastasia Grey to feel such dread when she gave her the diagnosis. She also made a note in Mrs. Grey's file to refer her to a license therapist, and not that quack, Flynn. Solution-Focused Brief Therapy (SFBT), indeed. She knew something else that started with 's' and ended with 't'. Sounded like he was counseling his patients to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. However, his treatise was mighty thin on what his patients were supposed to do after they reached their goals.

Later that evening, after drinks and jazz with a few colleagues she decided to make her way home and once again found herself placed in the path of one Anastasia Grey. She heard screams and shouting coming from the alley near spot where she was waiting for a taxi, and though everything inside her warned her not to get involved, she could never knowingly leave a person in distress if she could help.

A Latino man was screaming a small woman with dark hair. He was shaking her roughly and her blouse was torn. She was using all of her strength to scream for help and get away. When the back of the woman's head struck the brick wall behind her and she began to fall, the bastard didn't even attempt to help her up, but Dr. Greene could tell that she hadn't stumbled upon a robbery. Clearly this fiend intended to rape this poor woman right here in this alley, barely a block away from the hospital and the police station.

Elizabeth slowly removed a slender baton from her handbag and carefully approached the assailant. She didn't make a sound as she stood behind him and with a quick downward swipe of her hand, she laid the sorry SOB out. However, when she looked at the victim, she almost fainted herself.

"Ana?"


	3. Chapter 3

DID I MENTION NEED A BETA?

A/N: Christian has a melt-down. Taylor gives Mr. Grey a crash-course in security and invites him to see how far the rabbit hole goes. Christian is informed of Ana's attack. ***Trigger Warning - Violence***

 **Chapter 3: Black**

 _Sheets of empty canvas  
Untouched sheets of clay  
Were laid spread out before me  
As her body once did_

 _All five horizons  
Revolved around her soul  
As the earth to the sun  
Now the air I tasted and breathed  
Has taken a turn_

 _Oh and all I taught her was everything  
Oh I know she gave me all that she wore  
And now my bitter hands  
Chafe beneath the clouds  
Of what was everything_

 _Oh the pictures have  
All been washed in black  
Tattooed everything_

 _I take a walk outside  
I'm surrounded by  
Some kids at play  
I can feel their laughter  
So why do I sear_

 _Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin  
Round my head  
I'm spinning  
Oh, I'm spinning  
How quick the sun can, drop away_

 _And now my bitter hands  
Cradle broken glass  
Of what was everything  
All the pictures had  
All been washed in black  
Tattooed everything_

 _All the love gone bad  
Turned my world to black  
Tattooed all I see_

CPoV

Standing mute, shocked at the sheer effrontery of the scene that has just played out in the open living room, by the time his hands unclenched, and he began walking towards Ana, he didn't know what he would do when he reached her. The last time he felt this out of control, he had left the principal's son laid out on the floor, needing an ambulance. His coping mechanism of counting had utterly failed him, though he even tried counting his breaths. If felt as if his legs were walking through honey and for a moment the world seemed to stop spinning and the room tilted. He found himself bent over, almost down on his knees, gripping the back of the couch.

This cannot be happening! This was not his Anastasia. This bitch wanted to kill his baby. Was he not worthy after all? Was it all just a lie? Was it just the money? No, Ana couldn't give a shit about his money. He knew that much. However, with all her rejection of his gifts, he never thought she would throw away this wonderful gift they made together. Would she have even told him if she hadn't needed his signature to wipe his child out of existence? Would she have been one of those women who check into a spa for a few weeks to 'decompress'? Well, she wasn't going to flush his baby away or shut him out of her life!

Many times in his life, when given too much free time to reflect, he used to wish the crackwhore had just gotten a back-alley abortion or used a hanger instead of subjecting him to the fear and terror visited upon him in the claustrophobic apartment with its tar-yellowed wallpaper. It used to be one of the only dreams that didn't wake him up in a cold sweat, suffering from the night terrors that kept him awake, forced to play the piano until dawn, or at least until the financial markets opened. It was the best dream he'd ever had…until Anastasia.

He wanted to stop her. He wanted to confront this imposter masquerading as his Anastasia. He wanted her to stop walking away. He wanted to make her stop. To make her turn around. He finally called out to her, but no sound was uttered. Were his vocal chords frozen? Was he dying? The blood pounded in his ears, a dull throb, seeming to slow as he neared the foyer. How much time had passed if she's only just boarded the elevator? Almost standing in front of her, he noticed that she was looking down. Was she ashamed? Why was she holding herself? Why wouldn't she just look up?

The stark white of the room almost burned his eyes. How did the vase get broken, and why were there water and flowers strewn all over? For a moment, everything just disappeared. Love. Life. Color. Gone. Everything was washed in black. Then a strong black wave carried Christian away, and soon he knew no more.

TPoV

"Alpha is down. I repeat Alpha is down."

Reynolds and Sawyer enter the room stealthily, on high alert. They hardly ever enter the apartment proper without being summoned when Alpha or Omega are preparing to leave the apartment. Normally, it would be strange to see such large men moving with almost superhuman grace and catlike reflexes, but I too belong to an elite fraternity whose members all possess particular skillsets.

I can't help but be pissed that Sawyer is here instead of shadowing Omega. Pissed, but not shocked, because if anyone can make an entrance or an exit on her own terms, it's Mrs. Anastasia Rose Steele-Trevelyan-Grey. We quickly discovered that she could evade us if she did not want to be found. The difference between Omega and Gamma-(lw) was great. Although Leila managed to elude us for a very long time, it was only possible because we believed she was long gone and under another man who would hold her slippery ass down. She was never assigned security, and wasn't even put under any real surveillance. Omega, on the other hand, was assigned a surveillance officer by the time she left GEH after the interview, before Alpha had even requested the customary background check consisting of the subject's age, sex, location, lineage, assets, political affiliation, sexual slash medical history and a personalized NDA and D/s contract.

One of our guys followed her from the moment she exited the elevator and received her very own dedicated CPO after Alpha's visit to Clayton's. She's a very smart woman, and though her school records place her at above-level intelligence, her test scores reflect an almost genius-level acumen. If she hadn't moved around so much her first year of high-school, she would've qualified for more lucrative grants and scholarships; with her father's death benefits, I can't understand why she was working so hard at Clayton's and attending a school that was quite honestly beneath her. But, perhaps after so much upheaval in her life, she wanted to remain close to the parent who did right by her.

Records show that she went home at least once a month, and sometimes as much as every two weeks if her class and work schedule allowed. They also show that that she was rarely in contact with the egg-donor, and hadn't visited her for at least four years. I don't understand how that's possible since Mrs. Grey is the most forgiving person I've ever known, and I know Gail. Most people gravitate to her, much to Mr. Grey's chagrin. I don't think he's ever read poetry about caged birds singing. He tends to focus on the technical, financial and sexual. Until fairly recently, that knowledge alone sufficed, but now he's in uncharted waters.

The day Alpha met the future Mrs. Grey is a day that will live in infamy. People may make joking references to "The Man" and the "Eye in the Sky" but Christian Trevelyan Grey IS that man. He has his fingers in so many pies he could open a bakery, and he seems to possess the Midas touch. Everything the smug bastard touches turns to silver, gold or platinum depending on which precious metal will do the job. He employs almost fifty thousand people worldwide, and he generally pays far more than minimum wage, except in areas that undercut the workers. In those places, he still pays as much as their governments will allow, but he has also figured out creative ways to offer humanitarian aid in those places which he doesn't take credit for. GEH is fully staffed, yet there's an employee wait-list more competitive than that of the Ivys. Being a janitor at GEH has more prestige than some other companies' administrative staff. He has a Senator's daughter fetching him coffee for fuck's sake! How will she explain this shit on her next interview when they ask what she did in her last job? "Oh, I made and fetched coffee." But once she adds the magic words "for Christian Gray" she'll be able to write her own ticket. Yes, he's THAT powerful.

It generally takes up to six months to get a fifteen-minute appointment with Mr. Grey, and that's if you know the right people. If you're too persistent and don't know the right people, you could be redirected out of Washington if you're not careful. Ms. Katherine Kavanagh ticked all the proper boxes: her father was the head of a major news empire, she had a perfect GPA, was the editor of three years to her college newspaper, she was lucky enough to be attending the school to which he's made major grants, and Olivia had stupidly confirmed the acceptance for Mr. Grey to be the keynote speaker for this year's graduating class, she had been trying to get an appointment for a year and she had access to back-channels that most didn't. Also, one of his appointments was cancelled due to the death of the appointee, so a time slot opened up. Serendipity, perhaps?

In the end, the great man was brought low by the common cold. Instead of Katherine Kavanagh, who we had vetted so thoroughly her sphincter should still hurt, in stumbles this disheveled, disorganized individual. She was quite nondescript, until she looked up; She was a bombshell. What the hell was this doing here, wearing that? It was like somebody had ripped the Mona Lisa from its frame in the Louvre, placed it in a burlap sack and threw it out with the garbage. It was obscene! A train wreck!

Her mannerisms screamed 'don't see me' or 'please don't look at me' but you really couldn't look away. Surrounded daily by blonde, professionally coiffed and impeccably dressed women who could've been Elena Lincoln's daughters, she was a breath of fresh air, and an anomaly. But she wasn't on the list. We have pictures of each person who is authorized to be in the building, even if it's for a few minutes. We don't even give tours. I could hear her explaining about being a replacement for her roommate for the interview, that the roommate was bedbound that she really had to do this because there was nobody else. She had pulled out her driver's license, her school and state ID and had even offered her library card. I could tell the receptionist-bot was about to turn this poor girl away. I made eye contact with the receptionist and gave her the nod. Anastasia Steele's story had checked out and it was only 15 minutes after all. Famous last words.

She proceeds to the elevator, goes to the top floor and then fifteen minutes later all hell broke loose! For one horrifying moment, I worried that I had allowed an assassin into the building to kill my boss. Two lines on my phone lit up. I answered Mr. Grey's first. I'm not a complete idiot. He wanted the brunette coming downstairs tailed and he wanted a background check ASAP. The other call was from Andrea, Mr. Grey's long-suffering PA, otherwise known as the Asshole Whisperer; other than Ros Bailey, Mr. Gray's number two; Barney; Welch and I, she had been here longer than any other employee. Andrea sounded nervous and she was the gold-standard of poise. When I asked what was wrong, she told me that Mr. Grey had cancelled the rest of today's appointments. Stop the presses!

I directed one of the newer guys to follow Ms. Steele until further notice and to stay out of sight. The elevator doors opened and this little lady comes rushing out as if the building is on fire, gasping for air. She quickly exits the building, little knowing that she's attracted a stalker to the _n_ th degree and inherited and entourage.

Anyone hearing this would probably think I'm exaggerating the situation, but GEH runs like Swiss clockwork. People come, people go; GEH remains. And Christian Trevelyan Grey IS Grey Enterprise Holdings. He's the life-blood of this outfit. He's extremely anal-retentive, but he's saved asses all over that never suspected they were in jeopardy, so I guess in this case his paranoia is allowed. He has NEVER cancelled an appointment. Until today, I thought Ros would be performing séances lest Death keep him from merging and acquiring. The closest thing he has to a dependent is his sister, Ms. Amelia Grey, also known as the effervescent Mia, but except for a few trusts for family members, five percent of GEH for Ros, disbursements for his current employees and stipends for his retainers, everything, including his fucking body, has been left to various charities or science. Maybe he thinks someone will dissect his brain and figure him out for posterity, but all I can think is what a fucking waste!

That brings us to now. Alpha is unconscious. Sawyer grabs two small pillows from the sofa to elevate his head and feet while Reynolds silently cleans the debris, carefully picking up and disposing of the multiple shards of glass and sopping up the water. We must work around him. We will not attempt to move him. If he wakes up somewhere different than where he fell, hell will be rained down on all our heads. We're lucky we are able to assist him at all. He once broke a sub's collarbone because she 'inadvertently' touched his chest, and video shows that she had to safe-word to recall him from the dead zone he had slipped into. The scandal that would have ensued had he murdered the stupid bitch in his torture chamber would've made Watergate look like a crank phone call. In how many ways must he tell you never to touch him? Being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey every weekend while he stuffed her every orifice didn't give her a clue? Yeah, there's the story that is was a carabiner-suspension accident, but NOPE… He paid for her medical bills, paid off the mortgage on her small office building in Tacoma and ended her contract the same day. He had her sign a different contract, one that forbids her from working for, by or near anyone in his family and his immediate circle or even coming into contact with them or him in any way. He no longer wanted to breathe the same air as her. I'm surprised she remained in Washington as long as she did considering her constraints; he had basically labelled her a leper. I'd seen weaker restraining orders (I wish I'd had his lawyers for my divorce). I'm also surprised that she didn't get whiplash from the parade of replacement submissives that Mrs. Lincoln brought to the apartment for Mr. Grey's approval to apologize for his inconvenience.

We used to worry that one of these broads would show up with a baby, but apparently Mr. Grey must've audited some fertility classes or some shit because he had a dedicated app to track their periods, and until their windows of fertility closed, they either swallowed, took it up the ass or her gave them his own brand of facial. He even had a cervical mucous testing kits. I saw him using them when they were blindfolded. Other times he had them piss in a cup. He claimed he needed their urine for 'drug-testing' but we all knew the truth as did the lab where we sent the samples. Another reason he insisted on a balanced diet and exercise was keeping them off of antibiotics. The sex-bots might leave the apartment wearing bands, spots or stripes, but they wouldn't leave pregnant unless they entered that way. Any woman caught breaking her contract by cheating on Christian Grey, they had better pray they're only blacklisted. He'd own their great-grandchildren. Some of these chicks had tried it all. I often wonder if he has a partition of his brain dedicated to fucking and the results of fucking because he stays ahead of all of their plots.

Now I have to begin unfucking this situation before he regains consciousness. Since he's out of harm's way for the moment, I go to the control room to view my authorized surveillance files. Mrs. Grey doesn't know this, but every room in Escala is wired for video and audio 24/7. Every. Room. The first thing the truly wealthy must sacrifice is privacy; Otherwise, they wouldnn't survive to enjoy their riches. To keep them both safe, we have to know more about them than they do themselves. Instead of explaining this to her like she's an adult because that's far too much like right, it's just another thing that he hides from her which I'm sure has contributed to today's clusterfuck. Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot? They've bred? Shit fire and save matches! Situation far more fucked up than usual and Mrs. Grey is in the wind. There's not a color for this. We're at DEFCON1.

I think something deep in the back in Mr. Grey's reptilian brain, must've slowed him down. Otherwise, Mrs. Grey's lifeless body would be presently surrounded by a white chalk outline. Thank God! I think if he had laid his hands on her at that moment, there would be no baby and no Mrs. Grey. I've never witnessed him this angry and distraught before and I've seen him bust a heavy bag after a night terror. I think he experienced an out-of-body experience at some point because it looked like his rational brain completely disengaged. If he had killed her right then, I don't believe there's a court in the land that would convict him, money or no money. He could even represent himself. What is it about this couple and elevators?

After watching the situation devolve into utter chaos which began in the master bedroom and spilled into the living room, I log out of my console, grab the first aid kit and unlock a hidden floor safe and retrieve a black dossier. It's time to waken Alpha and have a come-to-Jesus. I could've witnessed a murder tonight.

CPoV

What the hell just happened? Does anybody have the plates of the truck that ran me over? What is that smell? I just have the most awful nightmare. Ana was pregnant and she was leaving to have an.. What the fuck!? Taylor is waving some nasty shit under my nose and I'm lying on the floor in the foyer. That argument was real?

I jerk upwards and there's a knot at the back of my head. Taylor is standing now, sufficiently out of swinging range. He's more solemn than usual, and he's holding a thick black attaché case or something. Is it time for a sit-rep? I'm feeling more docile than usual. Any other time I would've fired at least a couple people by now. Who knows. Maybe I just don't want to bite the hand holding the Ibuprofen.

I lead the way to my office as it seems must be the plan. After sitting at my desk, I pop the two pills Taylor offers and grab a water form my mini-fridge, quickly gulping it down to chase the bitterness. Taylor is still standing at attention and he hasn't blinked. I'm no longer as worried about Ana having an abortion since she can't legally get one tonight. The last thing I clearly remember is gripping her wrist too tight. Perhaps Taylor is here to lay down the law about spousal abuse or something. He has a soft spot for Ana. However, he's too quiet, as if he's girding himself to deliver some shitty news, and if something has happened to Ana, I can't hear it right now. I've only barely recovered from what seems like the mother of all blackouts. Let her be at Kate's apartment, sleeping off our fight.

"Sir," he starts. "I've caught up on the video, so I believe that I know everything that happened since you got home. Normally, I wouldn't want to interfere, but there are things you should know, that would shed light on this situation."

"What have you got for me?"

He carefully approaches my desk, and places the black case he was holding on his side of the desk. I invite him to sit. What I thought was a case was a leather accordion folder. As he opened it, I had a momentary thought that he was opening Pandora's Box. Fuck, sometimes I hate being right.

"Every time you contract a submissive, you order us to create the basic package, life stats and such, correct?

"Yes, that's correct."

"However, we also perform a lot more due diligence than you see because you let them sleep in your house. When they are here, you are vulnerable. When more than you and your circle of protection have the codes to Escala, you are vulnerable. Our job is to keep you alive, so we always know more than you want us to know, and more than we want to know to keep you safe. With all of our overlapping non-disclosure agreements and non-compete clauses, we a frequently forced to share information amongst ourselves to keep you safe. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

He pulls out three file folders. Then he says something that will remain with me for the rest of my life. "This file represents the life of Anastasia Steele. This file contains a background check of Rose Lambert. And this final file contains a comprehensive list of every state and federal law we broke to get the second file."

I don't know why I was surprised that the last file was thickest, but it was a mark of respect that they'd allowed me to keep the illusion of plausible deniability so long, but are willing to break the glass in order to help me. I won't ever be able to un-know the information in these files. I guess Taylor senses my discomfort, because he decides to be unusually forthright. "You think of your security as me, the rest of the CPOs, Barney and Welch, but in reality, your security force is much larger. You are a very high priority target. If anyone ever took you, they would have the keys to the kingdom. You are the president and CEO and you don't answer to a board of directors since you own GEH and its numerous subsidiaries outright. There is no limit to what K&R would pay out if you are taken. So, that's why when you think you are alone, and put the key in the ignition, an alert is sent to a building over there and a random set of people follow you. Then, before you'd even notice, they send a second team to replace themselves. And this process continues until you plant yourself. If you put on your gym shoes, several men in various locations suddenly have the urge to feel the burn. Even a few women sometimes, because you are after all an equal-opportunity employer. You are never alone."

I'm a strange combination of appalled and impressed. I've _never_ noticed anyone but the first people he mentioned. "Mr. Grey, you're probably angry and a little overwhelmed by our diligence, but let me tell you a secret: Your wife has felt us around _all of the time_. She's actually made a few of them from time to time, but it's like she simply brushes aside her natural apprehension, and that's just not healthy for a woman in her position. She's the perfect victim because you lie to her all of the time. I would have said you protect her too much, but then I would be lying to you. She needs to know everything because she's too smart to let us protect her when she can't trust us. And she doesn't trust us because we lie for you."

"I don't lie to Ana."

"Leila."

"What?"

"You lied to her about Leila. You let her think that she was just wanted a closer relationship with you, you declined and it all ended amicably. You didn't tell her Leila was a bunny-boiler and you led her to believe you had the situation under control. And until that scene in her apartment, Ana might have believed you. Who the hell kicks their girlfriend out of her own apartment, bathes the other woman and puts her in his girlfriend's clothes?"

"I had to have control of the situation. Leila needed my help. She was sick."

"Leila Williams is sick alright. Leila is sick of you loving Mrs. Grey. Somewhere, in another building, Ms. Williams also has a file and she doesn't show any type of mental illness, unless you count being criminally manipulative with an excessive case of sour grapes. You sent her to Flynn. I made sure that she was seen by an independent therapist. She's not crazy; she's inconvenient. How else did you think she got out of the loony bin? She managed to interfere with some of the cameras, but she never knew about the redundant cameras and the uninterruptible power supply. I have proof that she has been entering and exiting Escala since your picture with Mrs. Grey at her graduation. There's even a wonderful video where she's standing in your bedroom, at the head of your bed. You scared her off when she tried to touch your chest."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Why have you been letting her traipse in and out of Escala?"

"Do you really want to know, or do you want plausible deniability?"

"I think I want to know."

"Be sure to let me know when your certain."

"Tell me."

"I wanted her to try something in a situation I controlled, so that when she tries to hurt or eliminate Mrs. Grey, and she will try without sufficient deterrent, I can blow her head off with impunity. I'm not going to attempt to subdue or contain Ms. Williams anymore just because she takes advantage of your kindness or you feel sorry for her since she reminds you of your mother. And I hate the bitch because she knows this apartment like the back of hand and she scared the hell out of Gail. She'd be a security risk even if she wasn't trying to replace Mrs. Grey because she knew how to get in which means she could tell others how to get in which mean the team has to set up new protocols every time there's a breach. Besides, each time she broke into Escala, she was breaking her NDA."

"Really? How do you figure that?"

Taylor laughed coldly and asked, "How else could you reasonably explain her presence if she showed up here when you had company? Simple: She was using nonverbal communication to force _you_ to expose your relationship to others which is also expressly against the document she signed and also by stalking you _and_ Ms. Steele, a third party. By confronting Ms. Steele, who was not party to your agreement, on a public street and asking her what Ana had that she didn't and telling her that _Master is dark_. By showing up in Ana's apartment and outing your secret BDSM relationship by calling you _Master_. Your arrangements might end, but the NDAs have an indefinite shelf-life unless _you_ legally sever them. Why should I have to tell you this?"

"Because I've been completely lost since Ana tripped into my life."

"They do that you know."

"So first, tell me about Rose Lambert."

Suddenly, the jocular, sarcastic man from minutes before morphs into the solemn, taciturn person most outsiders see. We're friends of a particular kind. I pay him because he's a highly valuable employee who keeps me alive, but he also made me an honorary godparent to his daughter, Sophie, in case there's ever a time he can't be there for her. Despite what I've told Ana about staying removed from the staff because I'm a jealous fuck, I know it's impossible to have a line with a man who has caught you fucking at least a dozen women.

"Rose Lambert exists only on paper. As you've probably guessed, Rose Lambert is a derivative of your wife's name before Carla had her last name legally changed to Steele when she was two years old. Raymond Steele never formally adopted Mrs. Grey. Rose Lambert has an expired Texas ID with a fake birthdate, designating her four years older. The first time she used the ID, she used it to accompany Carla Lambert, the recipient of the termination."

"Why in the ever-loving fuck would Carla make Ana go with her to get an abortion," I exploded. "Isn't it enough that Carla took away most of Ana's childhood?"

"Well, according to an off-the-record source, Carla's husband was unable to accompany his wife, so her sister went with her for support and transportation."

And, I think to myself, I think I've struck the motherlode. There is, officially, a worse mother than the crackwhore and she hasn't done Ana the courtesy of going quietly into that good night. I only had to watch my mother get fucked by a line of johns and pop pills. Who takes her child to an abortion clinic to kill a sibling? Ana was probably made to hold Carla's hand when she did it. Carla is just that needy and apparently she was such a fucked-up individual that she couldn't even find an actual friend or her even her fucking husband to go with her. And to add insult to injury, she made Ana pretend to be her sister.

"There's more, sir." Of course there is. Exactly how far does this rabbit hole go, Taylor?

"The fake ID was used three more times before Mrs. Grey returned to her father in Montesano." I can't her this. I can't hear about anything else happening to Anastasia. What else can a person do at eighteen that they can't do at any other age except join the army? Taylor continues, despite my mental pleas to just shut the fuck up, "The first time, she was mugged once coming late from work. She was just bruised and battered a little. Apparently, the perp had taken off his belt and whipped her across the legs and thighs; she was able to escape while he was unzipping. The nurses all praised Rose's wonderful sister. She stayed with her at the hospital every night and even held her hand when she told the police that she couldn't describe her attacker." Couldn't describe her attacker? A job at fourteen?

"The second time the ID was used, her wrist was sprained. It would've have been cut-and-dry except she claimed she sprained it breaking a fall. The attending reported the incident to the police because he found signs of torsion, which can only happen when force is used to twist. She would've had to have been break-dancing to sustain that injury by herself. Obviously, she was lying, but the police couldn't get her to recant, even when they sent her _sister_ from the room."

"Her _sister_ sure is supportive. She seems to always be there for her," I said, lowly. What's the use of all this security when I can't even save her from her bitch of a mother? She's the enemy. I know how to deal with those.

"And finally, Rose fell down a flight of stairs, which was strange since Carla and her third husband lived in a ranch-style house and most of the area in which she resided was as flat as a pancake. Even the high school Mrs. Grey attended was only one-story except for the gymnasium. Rose admitted to being very clumsy, but was hoping her luck would change. Mrs. Grey returned to Montesano less than a month later and that's where her brief second life dead-ends. Police followed up at the address they were given and her sister said that Rose had returned to her father's house since it was closer to the college she got scholarships for. They claimed she was a boarder. The police tried to investigate further, but for some reason they were blocked. One of them worked around the system and had a brain-fart, I guess. He found the house's blueprints. Turns out that the house was a two-bedroom, but most of the houses in that development tended to be sold primarily to empty-nesters and singles. There were numerous complaints that the second bedroom was the size of a prison cell. Everything's bigger in Texas, my ass," he scoffed at the last.

Two sounds break my reverie. Taylor has received a couple alerts of some kind, then he made two calls, only telling the other person to report. "Sir, I texted Sawyer while you were unconscious, directing him to find Mrs. Grey. He tracked her car to Ms. Kavanagh's apartment. Mr. Rodriguez's car was also present. Sawyer did a knock-and-enter and no-one was there. He guessed that all three of them might be somewhere together, so he tracked Ms. Kavanagh's car. It was at a local jazz club. There were a few black-and-whites. I'll need you to remain calm, sir."

Why does every sentence started with the following phrases always end badly? It's not you, it's me. We need to talk. It's not what you think. I need space. I need time. I need you to remain calm. Is there a "Letting People Down Easy" handbook that the author fucked up so badly they have to give the copies away free for a tax write-off?

"Mrs. Grey was attacked tonight. They have Mr. Rodriguez in custody. We need to meet Mrs. Grey, Mr. Grey and Dr. Greene at the station."

And my witty comeback? "Which Mr. Grey?"

"Mr. Carrick Grey, Esquire. He is apparently Dr. Greene's attorney."


	4. Chapter 4

DID I MENTION NEED A BETA?

A/N: Ana severs ties with Jose. Explains why she remained his friend despite the warning signs. Christian and Taylor meet with Ana & company at the police station. ***Trigger Warning – Attempted Rape from chapter two described in detail***

 **Chapter 4: Possession**

 _Listen as the wind blows  
From across the great divide  
Voices trapped in yearning  
Memories trapped in time  
The night is my companion  
And solitude my guide  
Would I spend forever here  
And not be satisfied_

 _And I would be the one  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away  
And after I'd wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes dear_

APoV

I decide not to wait for Kate because I can't stand to be here another minute. For all I know, Kate could be spending the evening at Elliot's and I'd be left here alone with my thoughts, which are a dark, troubling, swirling mess. My hormones must be really out of whack if I'm letting the words of Carla and Elena get to me, but all I could see when Dr. Greene told me I was pregnant, was Christian rejecting both of us. Once that vision planted itself, I got truly desperate. So desperate that I forgot how good Christian really is.

Christian may have said that he has no heart, but a heartless man wouldn't sacrifice millions to save and improve the lives of children he would never see. If he could do all of that for strangers, how much more would he care for a child that was bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh and not to mention, visible proof that I am his? And I am. How could I be so cold to him? My fears have taken over again. I need to go back home and let him yell at me if he needs to or at least suck it up and admit that I was wrong. There is no way I could have gone through with a termination when I couldn't even bear to look at the ultrasound display. I know the timing is all wrong, but we're rich. If Christian couldn't handle all of the day-to-day stress of a baby in the house, it's not like we couldn't afford assistance.

I'm so afraid of not being what Christian needs that most of the time I often forget my own needs, and that's no way to be, especially with a baby coming. Reaching in my pocket for my car keys because I didn't even make time to grab a purse, my fingers instead find a card. Dr. Greene's nurse gave me this appointment card. She had referred me to a colleague of hers when I told her I wanted a termination. I could have been angry at what I initially perceived as an attempt to change my mind, but she's doing her job and has absolutely nothing to gain from me. It certainly wouldn't do for one of her patients to catch buyer's remorse after it's too late. She doesn't exactly have any dogs in this fight and she's always seemed very protective of me. She has referred me to Dr. Ericka Weiss, a therapist with enough letters after her name to make alphabet soup.

I can't fully explain the thrill of relief that she didn't refer me to the expensive charlatan. I guess I just believe that Christian should have been further along in his mental health journey if he's been seeing the same therapist for years. Although I know people only get out of therapy what they put in to it, I'd still expect that a good therapist would recuse themselves if a patient was clearly just treading water or had hit a plateau. Flynn and Grace make it sound like I'm the best thing for Christian, which always begged the question: what the hell was everybody waiting for? I'm nobody's hero.

There's no doubt in my mind that Dr. Flynn is unethical and everything I accused him of being when Christian and I were first engaging in our e-mail banter. I could've slapped him when he told me that my fears about marrying Christian say more about me than him. I know I have poor self-esteem. I didn't need him to tell me that, but I also notice that he never answered my question. If he has done the same thing to Christian for years, it's no wonder why Christian is so terrible at answering my questions. He's learned to deflect at the feet of a master.

Perhaps my life would improve if I sought professional help. Although Carla always sneered at the profession, if I had approached a school counselor for help, maybe I wouldn't have such a love-hate relationship with my mother. The high school in Texas was very large, I was new, and had already transferred high schools twice since living with Carla and Three. I never had the opportunity to get comfortable, and each time we moved, my rooms got smaller and smaller. If they moved again, I might've ended up with a room the size of a closet. I didn't so much fall through the cracks as simply merge into the shadows, and by the time I found out my guidance counsellor's name, I had already scrounged together my meager funds and purchased a bus ticket to Washington.

I existed with Carla for almost a year, the amount of time it takes for the earth to make a full rotation around the Sun. Texas was hot, but I never felt warmth until I escaped to the wet chill of Washington. I learned a lot in Texas, though. First, no matter what I did, neither Carla nor Three would be satisfied. Second, they were perfectly comfortable taking out their frustration at each other on me. Third, my mother had no qualms about using me as a human shield or looking the other way when it was becoming readily apparent that her husband had developed a more than familial interest in me. Fourth, if I ever wanted to have anything in my life, I would have to work very hard to earn it myself because I would be damned if I subject myself to the behavior of a man like Three in order to have my bun buttered.

They had a lot of sex. I know, because I had to wash their clothes, their towels and their sheets in addition to cleaning their house. Nothing in the house was mine except the few things I'd managed not to lose as Carla dragged me from pillar to post. I'd started with two suitcases full of stuff, and barely had one by the time we got the last house. There weren't even any books and there was only one television, but it was in their bedroom. The walls were paper thin, and one night I heard moaning, slapping and screaming, grunting and groaning, which was business as usual until I heard Three call out _my_ name. Filled with fear and revulsion, I knew it was time to leave. I took it as a warning. Eventually he would tire of pretending my mother was me, and force the real thing. After walking nearly two miles to the depot in the early morning, I was on the bus to Washington before he could wake up demanding breakfast.

Less than two years after I came home, Carla called me for the first time since I'd left her house. She had been hospitalized with a broken arm and leg. She had _also_ fallen down the stairs _which we didn't have_. She had also lost another baby. I gently placed the phone in its cradle and felt so guilty about it later, that I vomited until there was nothing left in my stomach but bile. The next day, the hospital called Ray's house looking for Carla's next of kin, her sister, Rose Lambert, because they couldn't reach her husband. I told them that Rose and Frank Lambert had died in an accident two years ago. I'm sure Carla got the message because she didn't call me again until I was about to graduate from high school. My last years of high school were hodge-podge. While I got great grades and tested very well, the schools in Texas took forever to send my transcripts. By the time I had all of my paperwork together, I had lost out on my first choice schools due to missed deadlines. Incredibly disappointed after working so hard for years, I put the names of the schools I could afford in a hat and drew one: Washington State in Vancouver. Better start looking for a job.

Everyone seemed so surprised and upset on my behalf that Carla couldn't make it to my graduation, but I told them how proud I was that she'd gotten such a great job in Las Vegas, and she was still her probationary period. Ray looked at me funny, but he didn't tell anyone different. It was true that she was in Vegas, but that's all I'd heard from Ray, who she still called from time to time. I guess she was depending on him to feel me out, to see if I would be willing to talk to her. She knew better than to ask for me. I'd keep the secret if she kept her distance. For about a year, her calls continued, then nothing. I knew she had probably found another man to scratch her itch, tell her she's beautiful and let her quit her job. Bon Voyage and Mazel Tov, Carla.

Walking out of Kate's apartment felt more final somehow than when I moved out officially; last time I was under a lot of pressure and I think I was begrudging Christian's hold on me. But part of being grown up is sticking it out and I have to live like there's no other place to go or I'll be running forever. I shouldn't have come here. It's not fair to Kate or Christian. As I was locking the door, I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end. I turned and looked up.

"Jose," I said shocked, "you scared me. How did you get in the building?"

"I saw Kate's car and someone was leaving out as I was coming in."

"Oh," I said, "I didn't notice anybody. Kate's not here, so I'm going home."

"Well, I was coming to see Kate, too. We could hang out for a few minutes and wait for Kate."

I felt uncomfortable. I couldn't say for certain that he wasn't being truthful, but I didn't hear anyone leaving. I didn't think it would be a good idea to be alone with Jose in the apartment, especially after the fight I just had with Christian. Christian doesn't like Jose. Christian doesn't really like many people per se, but he can't stand Jose.

I began to walk to the exit, Jose nipping at my heels. Has he always been this clingy? "So, we could go out and have a drink or something until you get ready to go home."

"I already decided to go home."

"But I never get to see you anymore! You're always busy. You're a hard woman to get ahold of, Annie."

I felt a guilty pang. I should try to spend at least some time with my friends before the baby is born. New mothers have almost no free time. "I guess we could hang out for a half hour or so. Where do you want to go?"

"There's this new jazz club up the way. We could have a couple drinks and I can show you some of my newest projects."

"Sure, sounds great, but let's use Kate's car. She has the parking sticker, and I don't have any change. Do you?"

"Nope. Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

Decision made, we walk to Kate's car. It's been awhile since I've driven it. On our way to the club, Jose was making small-talk and suddenly it occurred to me that he was supposed to be out of town. "Hey Jose, weren't you supposed to be going out of town?"

"No, since I've gotten so much work from the show and Christian's commission, I've been spending time reorganizing my photos to prepare for another show."

"Ray must've been mistaken then."

"Yeah. Must have."

I pulled into a parking slot and got out of the car. I was surprised that Jose was so attentive. Opening the door for me and telling the hostess we needed a table for two. I felt bad, but I didn't want to get _too_ comfortable. I still needed to get home, so I asked the hostess to direct us to the bar instead so we could sit on the stools.

"So what are you gonna order?"

"Can I have a lemon water to start? I have a weird taste in my mouth."

"Sure, chica. I'm gonna order a beer."

"Sounds great."

"How's work?"

"It's been really hectic. They're doing major reorganizing."

"Reorganizing? Isn't that usually a bad thing?"

"Not the way Christian does it. He generally only institutes the standard business practices to bring GEH subsidiaries up to par. Other than that, he's all about saving jobs."

"Christian owns SIP," he asked suddenly.

"No, Christian owns Grey Publishing for now. SIP is Grey Publishing."

"Oh, wow. You work for your husband? I didn't think you would like that too much."

"Um, actually, Christian is my boss's boss's boss. Christian runs GEH and next year, GP will be mine anyway, so he won't be my employer anymore."

"Sounds like you're living your dream, Annie. Ready for that drink now?"

"Sure," I called over the bartender, "I'd like a Fauxgarita, please. Heavy on the lime."

"You call that a drink, chica?"

"Yeah. Designated driver, _recuerdas_?

"Sure, sure. I'll have another beer and a shot of Patron. I'm legal now and I'm not driving."

 _I'm legal now_

 _I'm legal now_

 _I'm legal_ NOW

-Portland, Finals Celebration (flashback)-

" _It means a lot to me that you'll be there Ana," he whispers in my ear. "Another margarita?"_

" _José Luis Rodriguez – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it's working." I giggle. I think I'd better have a beer. I'll go get us a pitcher."_

" _Ana," José has joined me. "You okay?"_

" _I think I've just had a bit too much to drink." I smile weakly at him._

" _Me too," he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. "Do you need a hand?" he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me._

" _José I'm okay. I've got this." I try and push him away rather feebly._

" _Ana, please," he whispers, and now he's holding me in his arms, pulling me close._

" _José, what you doing?"_

" _You know I like you Ana, please." He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy fuck… he's going to kiss me._

" _No José, stop – no." I push him, but he's a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into my hair, and he's holding my head in place._

" _Please, Ana, cariña," he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating._

" _José, no," I plead. I don't want this. You are my friend, and I think I'm going to throw up._

" _I think the lady said no."_

-Portland, Finals Celebration (end flashback) -

 _I'm legal_ NOW

WTF!

Jose wasn't drinking that night. He wasn't drunk at all. He spent that whole night trying to get _me_ drunk, bringing _me_ drink after drink until I called a halt to it and bought my own drinks. Then he kisses me against my will, and he said he was drunk, too. He wasn't even graduating why the fuck was he even there? He wasn't even legal.

 _I'm legal now._

Christian was right! He was right about him all along! And just like that, I'm down to one friend in the world. Thank God Kate is friend enough for anybody. All the sympathy and affection I ever felt for him is fallen away. Ray vouched for him. Said he was good people. We used to hang out all the time: Ray, Jose Sr., Jose and me. The fathers _never_ tried to hook us up. Ray knew he was like a brother to me.

I feel violated and frightened. I pull out my phone to speed dial Sawyer to pick me up. I can't drive like this. Jose can fend for himself. I stand up suddenly. There's no signal. I walk toward the exit of the club. Still very little signal. What the fuck, Christian? Don't you own telecommunications empire? Why is your wife trapped with a fucking rapist and can't get two fucking bars on her fucking phone? Ok, Li'l Blip. Calm down. I think this baby is going to be just like Christian. In a few more weeks I'll be throwing things and firing people left and right, too. Still walking. No signal. Jose is walking after me asking what's wrong. I told him something is wrong with my phone and that I'm looking for a signal because I was expecting a call.

I'm so upset that I'm nauseous and as if this evening can get anymore fucked up, I begin throwing up again. On Jose's shoes. Is this Groundhog Day? Have I stepped into a time warp or something? I'm practically in the middle of an alley. Did Jose guide me here or something? Hairs are standing up on the back of my neck again. I check my phone. THREE BARS! Eureka!

"Annie, what's wrong?"

And suddenly I'm pissed at him all over again. "I'm fine. I'm just trying to make a call."

"I thought you were waiting on a call."

"So? What's the difference? I should've been home by now. I was only supposed to be for half an hour and it's been over an hour. I'm sure Christian is worried about me." Please be worried about me, Christian. Please be jealous. Send in the fucking Marines.

"He's so controlling, Annie. How do you stand it?"

"He's my husband, Jose. Husbands and wives answer to each other. That's the way it's _supposed_ to be. Mutual submission." And suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, it hits me. That's what Christian has been doing for me this whole time. He's been subbing for me. And I didn't even notice.

"Why him, Annie? Why not me? Is it the money?"

 _Is it the money?_

 _Is it the money?_

"What the hell? Does everybody in the world think that? No, it's not the money, Jose. Ididn't even know who he was before the interview. He pursued me! He asked me out!"

"I asked you out!"

"No you didn't. You asked me to come with you in a group."

"That's the only way I thought I could get you to come."

"You never asked me!"

"Yes, I did! The night of your finals. I knew you'd be leaving. And we kissed."

I was screaming at this point, and crying, I was so angry. "You got me drunk! You got me drunk on purpose. You were feeding me drinks all night! Drinks I didn't even want! But you know what I did? I went outside to call Christian because he was all I could think about drunk or sober! And you came outside and kissed me against my will. I remember you weren't drinking at all! But Christian saved me from you, you rapist basta-!"

"You bitch! You were supposed to be mine. I helped you. I fixed your car over and over! I was there for you!"

He was hitting me and shaking me, and he tried to kiss me, pressing his body against mine. And I kneed him in his balls and he shoved me backwards. He was ripping my blouse as I fell into the brick wall, hitting my head. He was trying to get on top of me while I was laying awkwardly on the pavement. He shoved his hands under Kate's blouse and I scratched his face, drawing blood, using my knees and elbows like Ray taught me. I wasn't winning, but he wouldn't win either. I felt myself losing consciousness as he had started to strangle me. I looked up and I saw the moon.

I must have been hallucinating because I swear I saw Dr. Greene over Jose's shoulder. There was a sharp jolt and Jose fell on top of me, and I was trying to push him off. As I rolled Jose's now limp body off of me, I heard a voice in the distance calling my name.

I woke up to the sound of sirens, and the gentle smiling face of Dr. Greene. She asked if I was alright when I grimaced. I just knew I'd have a shiner. She wanted to put me in an ambulance, but I wanted to call Sawyer. The protocol had been all shot to hell, but I was trying to salvage something from this terrible day and to keep heads from rolling like the French Revolution.

Dr. Greene was calling someone. "Carrick, it's Elizabeth Greene. There's been a situation."

That name sounded awfully familiar. Weren't there supposed to be six degrees of separation? Just how small is Seattle?

The policemen from the first car stepped out to speak to me, but I was going to remain silent until my cavalry got here. The fucker must've broken my phone, too. The screen is cracked. I never learned Sawyer's number. He used to be speed dial number four.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. "Sawyer? How did you know I was here? Belay that. I already know. Thank goodness you're here!"

"What happened, ma'am?"

"Jose Rodriguez happened. I don't think I should answer any more questions until I have a lawyer. Can you get one for me?"

"Mr. Grey, sir. Sorry to be calling so late. This is Luke Sawyer, Mrs. Anastasia Grey's CPO. She needs you to come to the station. What? You're already en route? Thank you. We'll meet you there. Yes. I'll tell her."

"What, Sawyer?"

"That was Mr. Grey; he's already on his way to meet us at the police station."

"Christian's meeting us?"

"No, ma'am, Mr. Carrick Grey, Esquire. He's your attorney."

"And mine," said Dr. Greene, "Call me Elizabeth."

Sawyer drove Elizabeth and I to the police station. He made two calls. I suppose he had to report to Taylor. Jose had already been taken into custody. I derived much delicious glee from his grimace as they tightened the cuffs behind his back. Now if only the police station had a St. Andrews cross, a bullwhip and an experienced wielder.

CPoV

I was filled with trepidation arriving at the police station. Until I saw Ana, then I was filled with tremendous anger. Jose had beaten up my baby. Both my babies. Her cheek was bruised, her hands looked like she had put up one hell of a fight. Jose was lucky he was already in jail or he'd be hell-bound by now. There's still time.

I have a difficult time remembering the argument we had when she's sitting here looking so hurt and vulnerable. She silently mouths the word "sorry" and holds her hand out to me. I gingerly touch her hand; a few of her nails had been broken in an apparent struggle. She leans towards me and whispers that he didn't succeed in raping her, and she told me I've been right about Jose this whole time. She told me how he'd lied about being drunk when he wasn't even old enough to be served alcohol at the time.

Now I don't even care that the fucker is in jail. I wish I could anonymously bail the rapist bastard out so that I could hunt that fucker down and beat him to death with my bare hands. When I think of all the time he spent with Anastasia alone in remote locations, taking candid photos of her without her consent, I get chills. He could've taken more from her than just pictures.

"I threw up on his shoes again."

And I laughed. "That's my girl. Was it at least projectile vomit?"

"No, but it was very accurate. And I didn't apologize this time."

"You're taking this week off."

"No, I'll take tomorrow off, then we'll see. There are certain things I need to do for the reorganization, thanks to you; If you like, I'll try to take off at noon the rest of this week."

"That works. I guess I want to just wrap you up in cotton wool. Thanks for compromising."

When my father arrives with mother, I was surprised but pleased. Dad takes Ana to a private interview room for a few minutes. When they came out, it looked like he had aged ten years. He ran his hand down the front of his face. I recognized that expression. Only Anastasia can draw that reaction out of me. She's so innocent and reckless. You just want to love her when you're not shaking the hell out of her. There's something very childlike and pure about her that managed to survive Texas, Carla and her third husband. What kind of magic is that? What did that guy say in Shawshank Redemption about Andy Dufresne traveling through a river of shit and coming out clean on the other side? That's my Anastasia. Shit-proof.

The officer calls us in another interview room. This room is much larger because Ana insisted that I be there too so I could hear everything, because she only wanted to talk about it once tonight. The officer started recording the interview. He made a couple statements about Jose's minor injuries and how he received them. Ana admitted to scratching, elbowing, kneeing him in the balls and in a very low voice confessed to biting hard enough to break skin in certain places, like when he tried to cover her mouth and was trying to kiss her. What the fuck is wrong with this kid that he would snap and try to rape her in a public place, and this isn't even the first time.

Darkly, I admit to myself, if you must be obsessed by anyone, Anastasia is a natural choice and I've had, touched, licked, suckled and pleasured her every way possible. The strain of waiting for her a matter of days almost drove _me_ to madness. When I lost her for that short time after the belt incident, I would've said or done anything she wanted to have her back. I would've been her willing slave. Who the fuck am I kidding, I _am_ enslaved. I can't imagine what it must have been like to want her for years. Poor fucker. I still want to watch him die.

When the officer tells Ana that Jose had keys to Kate's building and apartment, she paled dramatically and the officer offered her water. He briefly stepped out of the room and returned with several bottles of water. I wish he'd given us something stronger when she backtracked to the time she ran into Jose at Kate's apartment. She told him that Jose had gotten into the building, but must've lied about how he got in because he claimed someone let him in as they left out, but she didn't see or hear anyone else. He was trying to get Ana alone in Kate's apartment. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Taylor was right. Ana is suppressing her danger signals. She's just admitted to it as a part of public record. Fuck! This is too much. Truth and protocol will be the topics of the day tomorrow. This can't happen again. I could've lost Ana. There are not nearly enough ways for Jose fucking Rodriguez Jr. to die.

E/N: In the state of Washington, a parent can change the name of a minor child. Since Ana's biological father is dead, Carla could legally change Ana's name since she is the only legal and natural parent, which she did when Ana was two years old. This event had no effect on Ana's ability to receive Frank's military benefits c/o Carla.

I would like to explore how people can internalize the bad behavior of others. It's almost like their self-talk consists of "X, Y and Z happened to me; therefore, I must be unworthy" and other self-disparaging statements. Furthermore, I'd like to determine when this attitude establishes itself. In the case of CG and Ana, neither was in a position to hold their abusers/violators accountable for their conduct without incurring further abuse.

Next post: Dr. Greene gives Mr. Grey food for thought.

Happy Belated Birthday, Anastasia Grey; I hope you're having fun with Christian, topping from the bottom.

[Out of town for a few days. Next post may not drop until Wednesday.]

Feel free to swim on over to the FSoG Fanfic Obsessed group FB.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	5. Chapter 5

DID I MENTION NEED A BETA?

A/N: We finally hear from Christian, and he has a LOT to say. Still at the police station. Did you really think I'd let them leave the building before letting you know what Jose was up to? Dr. Greene delivers shocking news to our prospective parents and has words with Christian. ***Trigger Warning – Aggressive Stalking Behavior***

 **Chapter 5: Every Breath You Take**

 _Every breath you take  
Every move you make  
Every bond you break  
Every step you take  
I'll be watching you_

 _Every single day  
Every word you say  
Every game you play  
Every night you stay  
I'll be watching you_

 _Oh can't you see  
You belong to me  
My poor heart aches  
With every step you take_

 _Every move you make  
Every vow you break  
Every smile you fake  
Every claim you stake  
I'll be watching you_

CPoV

 _Truth and protocol will be the topics of the day tomorrow. This can't happen again. I could've lost Ana. There are not nearly enough ways for Jose fucking Rodriguez Jr. to die._

Why did Jose have keys to Kate and Ana's apartment? Why didn't Ana know he had the keys? How long has he had them? Did he have keys to their Portland apartment, too? These and other questions swirl in my mind, dark and putrid and I know I won't rest until I have answers. I don't care if we're all up to coffee o'clock. No-one sleeps until we put this shit to bed. This fucker was in my home on my birthday, _still_ trying to get into Anastasia's panties. If I had died in the crash, how long would he have waited to take advantage of my disgustingly wealthy widow? Yeah, Ana wasn't actually my wife _then_ , but every legal process that I could complete without her signature was used to protect her as much as possible in case of my demise or incapacitation. All it took was a small addition to my will as I hadn't really left much of my estate to individual people. Most of my legacy was to be left to organizations and trusts. At a very dark time in my life, I had even added a codicil which I donated my body to science. That shit was revoked when I added Anastasia to my will. How could I guarantee her remembering me forever if I couldn't leave her my ashes or even a grave with my body in it to visit? We had already lost so much time; I could haunt her in the afterlife and still not have my fill.

Ana was sobbing quietly, fat tears trailing down her cheeks; her lips, always so soft when she cried. It's not every day that you realize that one of your best friends was a stalker. I wonder how long he stalked her and if my presence in her life caused his behavior to escalate. I worry more about what would have happened to Ana if we had never met. Would she have become yet another statistic: pregnant by date-rape? She wasn't on any type of birth control. Would he have had sex with a drunken Ana and felt like he hit the jackpot when his seed took root? Would he have gone to Ray, hat in hand, to attempt to do the "honorable" thing? Or would Ana have gone into Planned Parenthood and "rectified" her situation? After all, she would have had no husband with the right to stop her or even be notified. And with that thought, I'm again filled with rage, transported to the apartment when Anastasia so clinically informed me that she intended to kill my baby. Then she _struck me_. I know passions were high, but that is unacceptable behavior.

My arm and chest she was lying against began to burn slightly. I hadn't experienced a haphephobic episode in her presence for a very long time. I fought the sensation, deciding to keep her against me where she belonged and it slowly receded. She may have sounded cold, but she's the furthest thing from it. More information is coming from various witnesses that have been questioned by the police and one of my security representatives.

According to the hostess and server, Jose had attempted to make the evening seem like a date, requesting a table for two, but Anastasia had cockblocked him, strongly insisting on sitting at the bar. The bartender claims that the man with her seemed upset when she ordered not one, but two non-alcoholic drinks, whereas he was knocking back multiple doses of Dutch courage. She was clearly uncomfortable while he seemingly "interrogated" her. Apparently, the evening took a turn when she stood up suddenly and departed with the Latino gentleman following closely at her heels.

Bruises had bloomed across the delicate skin of her neck and clavicle. I was so focused on her face that I hadn't noticed that she must have changed clothes at Kate's apartment. She had left home wearing nightwear but was now wearing a royal blue blouse and black yoga pants.

Taylor approaches, signaling me to talk privately. Obviously, there was sensitive intel to discuss because ears-only was indicated. Leaving Anastasia to the ministrations of Grace, he walks me to an out-of-the-way room. This facility is deceptively large. He confirms the room is clean-and-clear. He pulls out a tablet, hits a few keys, sets it on its easel and turns it to face me. At first, all I saw was a typical single student dwelling: desk, chair, bed, bureau and footlocker; the student's even lucky enough to have his own bathroom. The student has a very high tech setup: multiple PCs, a laptop and a few cameras with other photographic equipment. Ah, this must be the Rodriguez residence. He has two walls of posters. He must've spent a fortune on that adhesive tape that doesn't damage the paint.

Taylor speaks, "When we left, I instructed Reynolds and Ryan to make a check on Rodriguez's dorm room." As he was speaking, Reynolds, wearing latex gloves, is panning the camera, finally landing on the poster wall. As he zooms in, it becomes clear that what I thought were large-scale posters was a gargantuan massive collage covering two walls. The focal subject was my wife.

Among what must have been the original photos of Anastasia laughing, smiling, frowning, and so on, were also photos of her eating, sleeping, changing and showering, leaving and entering BOTH apartments. This fucker had invaded her privacy so thoroughly; I'm surprised Ana could still walk upright. The next image scared the hell out of me. Barney was in the apartment, doing something to Rodriguez's computers, not sure what. I guess he was trying to login. He tried a couple different passwords before taking a look around, then he clicked eight keys. When the home screen opened, he almost fell of the chair laughing his ass off. The wallpaper was a fucking close-up of Anastasia's sleeping face. He took out a few memory sticks and a portable hard drive and repeats the process on the other PC and laptop, apparently striking the same eight keys to login. Then he makes a call and then Reynolds stops recording.

"The passwords were all the same; your wife's eight-digit birthdate: month, day and year," he stated plainly. "The reason Reynolds stopped the feed at that time is that Barney found a real-time surveillance running in the background of the main PC. Bastard has Ms. Kavanagh's apartment wired for audio and sound. He also found some older files that show that their apartment in Portland had also been bugged, but not as extensively. He most likely took advantage during the upheaval of the girls' move. The point is that Mr. Rodriguez is very much aware of the nature of your relationship with Mrs. Grey and your relationships in general. And he hasn't signed an NDA."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you and Mrs. Grey have had little to no privacy any time you were in her apartment. He has a few recordings that feature Leila. The first one, he caught her breaking into the apartment on Pike Place, but a neighbor coming back scared her away. The second time, she's clearly casing the place, finding areas to hide or look inconspicuous. The last time, she was holding Mrs. Grey at gunpoint. Your wife clearly possesses balls as strong as her maiden name because she was trying to talk Ms. Williams down, even going as far as offering to make them both cups of that weak-ass tea she likes. Like I told you before, Ms. Williams is clearly recorded breaking her NDA, but what's worse is this asswipe has proof of this shit, too. I can clearly see that nothing sexual happened between you and Ms. Williams, but do you think Mrs. Grey will understand Leila offering her body to you in her bathroom even if you turned her down? Barney's now trying to determine if Mr. Rodriguez has made copies of any of these files or disseminated any of them to anyone else."

"FUCK! Do what you can; have Barney and Welch see what they can do. Full resource access. Carte blanche. The sooner and farther I put Leila and the rest of the subs in my rearview the better."

"And if he has copied or disseminated them…?"

"I used to worry that my past or BDSM lifestyle would destroy my business, but at the risk of sounding too cocky, I think GEH is too big to fail over completely consensual arrangements between adults that ended before I married. I worried even more that my parents would find out and hate me, but that wasn't true either," I stated. It's actually the lies that would hurt the business. Besides, I no longer practice the worst, most brutal aspects of the lifestyle. One day, this would've come out as all things eventually do. "Do what you can, Taylor, but also prepare for a preemptive strike on all fronts. Do a check on Jack Hyde. Have Welch reach out to those interns. Grease palms. Pay someone on the inside to make sure he remains safe, sound and incarcerated. When it rains, it pours."

"And Mrs. Grey?"

"I think I've been underestimating Anastasia. I'm sure she would support me in this, if only to diminish the possibility of another submissive bunny-boiler from blackmailing me in the future. We need to destroy any possible leverage that can be used against me. And I can no longer afford to let these fuckers attempting to harm Anastasia go with a warning in an attempt to protect my privacy. Do you think that's why Ana doesn't trust me?"

"I'm sure that's part of it. You made it seem like those relationships were formal and businesslike and they probably were, _to you_ , but the type of women who sign up for that kind of treatment for cars, condos and cock aren't necessarily honorable or stable, despite how experienced they may be. Now, I'm not judging the lifestyle, I'm judging the nutjobs who use their kink to hide worse predilections. Does Mrs. Grey realize how cutthroat you are, sitting across from sharks, who shake in their boxers because you the largest Great White in the room, until you don your human mask and become an ever more dangerous predator?"

"NO, she really has almost zero interest in my work or money."

"You have a great woman, sir, but her ignorance is a huge fucking safety risk. It's bad enough Rodriguez wants her for herself, but what if he had wanted her for your money? Does she even know how much she's worth?"

"I was afraid to tell her. I know that my money is my least attractive feature to her; However, I'm lucky enough to do what I love and it's made me several shitloads of money. We don't discuss money at all. She already hates the money; I didn't want her to add yet another thing to her 'cons' list."

"If you can't discuss the risks with her, give me an hour with her. She needs to know that kidnap-for-pay is one of our lesser worries, though we're paying out more K&R for her than you. Does she know how many enemies you have? How many foreign and domestic government officials would like to bend you to their whims? Competitors who didn't win a contract, even if they didn't earn or deserve it? And if it's not bad enough, she's currently carrying a future kidnap target. Anyone who takes her now would be getting two for the price of one."

I nodded. There was no argument. Everything Taylor said was true. We leave the room, preliminary plans established. It seemed like a long time, but it's been less than half an hour. Dr. Elizabeth Greene is coming out of an interview room, but when she notices me, her face closes, her lips thin and her nostrils flare. Who pissed in her Cheerios?

"Mr. Grey," she nods and makes to walk away, but she rescued Anastasia and I can't let her go without acknowledging that and expressing the depth of my gratitude.

"I would like to thank you for saving my wife. Not many people would go out of their way for a stranger."

"Yes, I know and some people don't cherish what they have," she said snidely.

I've always had the impression that she doesn't care for me much, but she seems almost furious with me.

"Is there anything I can do for you? To thank you for your heroic act?" If anything, her eyes narrow further and I get the sense that she wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire.

"No, thank you Mr. Grey. I couldn't leave anyone in such distress if I believed I could help."

"Why don't you like me, Dr. Greene? I can't think of anything especially egregious I might have done to make you so angry." If I wasn't paying close attention I might have missed it. She looked at me with complete and total revulsion. No woman had ever looked at me like that before, not even the subs I sent on their merry ways. Not even Anastasia the night of the belt incident, though she was more hurt and disappointed. No, Dr. Elizabeth Greene was full of vengeful fury, and I again wondered what could so fray her mask of cool professionalism.

"Have you signed the form," she inquired, her voiced strained. It was a fairly innocuous question unless you understood it in context and realized the delicate dance she was performing to maintain doctor-patient confidentiality, all whilst nailing me to the wall. And then I knew. I should have guessed. Many may respect me, but apparently there are at least a couple who believe I'm capable of this type of atrocity. This woman honestly believes I wanted Anastasia to terminate her pregnancy. To kill my own flesh and blood. Still, I felt the need to answer.

"No, I have not, and I'm _not at all interested_ in signing it ever."

"I don't understand, she was so terrified when I told her," she mutters to herself distractedly, almost at a whisper. "I must speak with your wife."

"Well, she's here now if you'd like to speak with her. Walk with me."

Anastasia's face was a picture as she saw the doctor and I come around the corner together. Worried your chicken's are coming home to roost, my lady? My father soon joined us after handling the various paperwork and forms to be filed for restraining orders and gag orders. His current tasks made him sound like a sex-toy salesman.

Under the guise of discussing her referral to see someone to discuss the attack, she took Ana to the far side of the room, and of course I, as a concerned husband, followed. "Mrs. Grey, you've placed me in an awkward position here. While you are my patient, you have also given my practice written permission to share or discuss your health information with Mr. Grey. Are you revoking that permission at this time?"

Dr. Greene was playing hardball. She looked to Anastasia, giving her room to shit or get off the pot. In a very small voice, Ana said, "No, I am not revoking my permission."

"Very well, then. Earlier today, I informed you that you are pregnant, and you seemed to give the impression that the news would not be received well at home. I was worried for your physical and emotional safety when you left my office. If you had come in with the signed form, I had already planned to ask if you were being forced to terminate against your will. I was so concerned about you, I referred you to a mental health professional for a consultation. Do you understand what that would have meant for you and Mr. Grey and me as your doctor?"

"I'm sorry. When you gave me the results, I think I went into shock or something. You've been to see me at home twice regarding birth control, so you probably know how anxious my then-boyfriend was over the possibility of an unwanted pregnancy. He took extraordinary pains to make sure I didn't get pregnant. I was afraid he'd blame me for the failure of the shot. I think I was on auto-pilot for the most part."

"Well, the most reliable birth control is abstinence; barring surgery, an intrauterine device is one of the most effective reversible methods of birth control. The pill and the shot have a failure rate, even if the patient does everything right."

"Christian led me to believe I would be protected by these methods. When the shot failed, I was afraid he would blame me. I've been terrified about his reaction since you told me I was pregnant."

"And termination was your only choice," I asked skeptically. I couldn't believe it. Was I that intimidating, that Anastasia felt she had no say-so or control over her own body?

"I thought you wouldn't want me and a baby."

"Well, Mrs. Grey, you're in luck," said the doctor amused. "Apparently, Mr. Grey isn't as against the idea as you thought. I have something here for you if you'd like to see it now." I could tell that was a slight dig at Anastasia, but being that I was still smarting from her initial reaction to the pregnancy, I decided to let it go.

"Yes, please show me…I mean us."

With that, Dr. Greene removed a tablet from a rather large handbag. "My godson, Barney, insists that I have the best in secure software and hardware. He works for a think-tank."

Shark tank, maybe. I have a feeling her Barney and my Barney are one in the same, but I'll keep that in my back pocket for now. She inputs several passwords, then turns the tablet so we can all look at it at the same time. It's a slightly blurry, black and white image. Oh, what I thought was a blur is just the picture moving slightly. It's Ana's ultrasound! I point out the what I think are the baby's eyes and feel somewhat embarrassed when she laughs at me outright.

"Mr. Grey. Those are not the baby's eyes. It's too early yet. Each of those dark spots is a gestational sac."

"But there's two of them. Does the baby need a backup sac?"

"Sir, each baby has its own sac."

"But there's two of them."

"Exactly, Mr. Grey. You're looking at two embryos, twins. Anastasia is a little under five weeks pregnant."

Ana is shocked. She reveals this is the first time she saw the ultrasound. She closed her eyes when it was being done. I felt very small at that moment. My past reactions have frightened and confused her, making what should have been a happy experience a miserable and terrifying one for her. Looking back at the scene at the apartment, I'm surprised she didn't just pack her things and run away when she got the news. She decided to terminate rather than lose me, but it was a Solomon's choice. Even if I didn't want the baby, if she had gone through with a termination that I'm sure she didn't really want, it would have surely killed any love she had for me.

"That's another reason I may have seemed discouraging. You have far more hCG present than that a woman pregnant with only one baby. The first trimester with a twin pregnancy can cause incredible mood swings and this is your first pregnancy. Why don't you _both_ come in tomorrow very early? We can do a full-exam with Mr. Grey present this time. Though you seem fine except for the bruising and abrasions, I would really like to check you over after the trauma you experienced tonight and give you both a chance to see your babies live. The tablet loses something in the translation."

I'm very happy with Dr. Greene right now. Not only was she in my baby's corner, she's help cut through a lot of the bullshit and teeth-pulling I would've gone through with Ana to get to the truth and her real feelings. Carla has done real damage.

Finally, this interminably long evening seems to be wrapping up. The police come with an envelope to give to Anastasia. She opens it and it contains the remains of what used to be her phone. The screen was not only cracked, but the shards bent inwards; this didn't happen when it fell. It had been purposefully broken, maybe even stomped on, because when I gave Ana her Blackberry, I made sure she had a phone that could stand up to almost anything.

They informed us that while they had confiscated they keys to Kate's apartment, they would encourage her to change the locks. They also suggested that the building manager also change the main door lock. Apparently, this officer must not know me very well. Taylor's had that task in hand when we were told that Jose had the keys to Kate's place. I may not like her much, but I wouldn't wish her physical harm. We left the police station after thanking the officers and detectives profusely for handling this situation with such speed, professionalism and discretion.

We arranged to have the good doctor driven home, and made our way to the SUV led by Taylor. I gently assisted Anastasia into the car as she was moving fairly gingerly; I know she was in pain and I had no clue what she could take for it. My preferences in terms of aftercare lean toward Advil and Arnica which I'm not sure would be good for a pregnant woman. We'll be seeing the doctor very early tomorrow, so perhaps she'll have better options.

When we returned to the apartment, I realized that I couldn't let her behavior from earlier go. I felt compelled to let her know that shit was never going to fly and could never happen again. Not just for the blatant lack of consideration for me, her life-partner, but fear for her safety. I don't know what would have happened if I had made physical contact with her that instant. I felt disconnected, unhinged and completely out of control. I knew I would have to make myself crystal clear. There was absolutely no room for error or negotiation. I started, "About tonight. You struck me Anastasia. I remember you saying that you felt about punishment the way I felt about touching and you abused both. So what am I supposed to do?"

"It was a reflex action. I'm sorry I slapped you. I was just so angry. I thought I would explode when you implied I slept with someone else. I scared _myself_ when I hit you. That's one reason I _had_ to leave. I shouldn't have hit you."

"You mean run away, Anastasia. I don't know that you slapping me as an instinctual reaction sounds like something I like. I may play with you under _very stringent_ parameters, but I have never attacked you physically, or anything of that nature without your express or implied consent. I feel as if you disrespected me in many ways tonight. What does it say that the only person in this world that can really touch me, decided to hurt me? I'm of half a mind to forbid you from touching me at all until you can prove you understand the liberties I've given you. Not even Grace can touch me freely. Mia only touches me in tightly controlled circumstances and even then she never directly touches my skin. My skin burned when you touched me today for the first time in months."

She's crying piteously, but she needs to understand that striking me out of anger is a hard-limit. Tears don't wash away hard limits. There may not being any safe words in this relationship, but there would be respect.

She slowly shuffles away to our bedroom. I follow. She goes to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and as she's taking off her clothes, I begin to see even more bruising, on her back, her arms, even on her legs that must have been earned in her struggle to get away. But there are at least three things I know: Despite everything she said or did tonight, Anastasia wasn't consuming any alcohol, she fought like hell to get away and, by the absence of any bruising in her abdominal area, she still managed to keep our babies safe. I close my eyes and absolve her. I gently envelop her in my arms, and really pray for what seems to be the first time in my life. _Please let me be a good husband and father._

Rodriguez. Leila. Hyde. Elena. Susannah. Carla. Any son of bitch even attempting to get in the way of our happiness. There's going to be a reckoning.

E/N: Jose didn't drug Ana, as such; however, he did attempt to (and succeed in) get her stumbling drunk whilst remaining stone-cold sober himself. He might've taken a nip or two to eliminate suspicion, but he did not consume nearly the volume of alcohol he was trying to foist upon her. He also wasn't bringing anyone else drinks, only Ana. Since Jose was constantly seen in the company of Kate and Ana, people tended to believe he was their age, which is why he wasn't carded.

Another issue I had with Jose was his photo exhibit. CG buys the photos and negatives, but that doesn't account for any other photos Jose may have already taken, held back from the gallery and kept for himself.

What was the deal with Leila? She was a "super freak" and definitely NOT the kind CG would bring home to Grace.

 _She's a very kinky girl  
The kind you don't take home to mother  
She will never let your spirits down  
Once you get her off the street_

Leila might have been the best submissive in CGs stable, willing to take all he dished out and beg for more, but when it comes down to it, he simply does not respect her. When he admits to only taking Leila out to shop, I always had the image of her sucking him off on the way there and back and performing a striptease in the dressing room. I don't think he was taking her to see Caroline Acton at Neiman's either. He probably had the adult product store closed or went after hours and brought her in practically wearing a burka. In fact, I'm pretty sure they may have even arrived and departed separately. The graduation photograph he insisted Anastasia take with him must have been seen as Christian crossing the proverbial Rubicon (the point of no safe return).

Regardless of his thoughts of Leila, when she asked for an upgrade, he denied her _just as decisively as the rest_. Maybe not as harshly as he did the others, but he was done nonetheless. The most he may have felt for her was lust, pity and friendship. We'd all like to deny it, but look: he was friends with the Bitch Troll, so his judgement when it came to friends was highly questionable. In _Grey_ , Christian has revealed that he still accepted Leila's calls. He was not reaching out to her, but he did not mind if she kept him updated about her "happy life" with her husband.

Next post: Meet two adorable shades of Grey and Ana's new therapist, Dr. Ericka Weiss.

Feel free to swim on over to the FSoG Fanfic Obsessed group FB.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	6. Chapter 6

DID I MENTION NEED A BETA?

A/N: Still with Christian TCB. Meet two adorable shades of Grey and Ana's new therapist, Dr. Ericka Weiss. Christian reveals to Ana details of Jose's exploits. ***Trigger Warning – Aggravated Stalking and Child abuse***

 **Chapter 6: Talking in Your Sleep**

 _When you close your eyes and you go to sleep  
And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat  
I can hear the things that you're dreaming about  
When you open up your heart and the truth comes out_

 _You tell me that you want me  
You tell me that you need me  
You tell me that you love me  
And I know that I'm right  
'Cause I hear it in the night_

 _I hear the secrets that you keep  
When you're talking in your sleep  
I hear the secrets that you keep  
When you're talking in your sleep_

 _When I hold you in my arms at night  
Don't you know you're sleeping in the spotlight  
And all your dreams that you keep inside  
You're telling me the secrets that you just can't hide_

 _When you close your eyes and you fall asleep  
Everything about you is a mystery_

CPoV

… _she still managed to keep our babies safe. I close my eyes and absolve her. I gently envelop her in my arms, and really pray for what seems to be the first time in my life. Please let me be a good husband and father._

 _Rodriguez. Leila. Hyde. Elena. Susannah. Carla. Any son of bitch even attempting to get in the way of our happiness. There's going to be a reckoning._

Anastasia is sleeping now. Cautiously sliding my fingers over the small bump on the back of her head, I gently washed her long, luxuriant hair. I then blow-dried and loosely braided it. She was spent, and fell asleep quickly as I held her in my arms. I understand why she has such difficulties trusting that which is good. Abused by her mother and betrayed by one she thought as close as a brother. Caressing her, I get out of bed to continue my day. I vowed that I wouldn't sleep until at least one part of this catastrophe has been averted.

Bypassing my office, I proceed to the control room where a veritable troop has arrived. Taylor, Sawyer, Reynolds, Ryan, Barney and Welch, all present and accounted for. I direct my gaze towards Barney and Welch. Barney briefs me on all of the pertinent programs, apps and files discovered from Rodriguez's tech. Apparently, Jose has been creating a fantasy life where he and Ana are together. He had acted as Ana's gatekeeper, telling any males that showed interest that Ana was his. And he had proof. Candid photos of Ana in both seemingly intimate poses, taken on their many hikes, in her apartment and in her bed, not to mention he made sure to be seen coming and going from her apartment using a key. Anastasia, pathologically avoiding other men and only keeping company with Kate or Jose, further bolstered his claims. The many times Ray came to visit, he practically treated him as a son. Word was out. Ana wasn't available.

He was a cockblocker of obscene proportions. He invaded her privacy, inserted himself into every aspect of her life to the extent of being the only one to fix her car, which belonged to his mother before she died, and using her as his photographer's assistant, further depleting any free time she had available after school, studying and working almost full-time at Clayton's. I'm rather pleased that Kate managed to take her out from time to time because any time spent with Kate was time he couldn't co-opt. Most young people, freshly liberated from their parents, learn how to be independent while having a good time, meeting new people and making connections that, for the very fortunate, will last all of their lives. Ana, on the other hand, had been under what amounts to house arrest for over three years. No wonder she hates anyone else controlling her life. She must have already subconsciously felt the yoke.

Jose had been compiling a list of my sins to present to Anastasia at some point, because those files had been copied. At this point, Taylor stepped up and explained that when Jose was arrested, a friend of a friend took the liberty of replacing some items temporarily so that Welch could investigate further. Jose, after seeing Ana in Kate's apartment, decided to meet her there and reveal all at the "scene of the crime" but Ana spoiled his plans by leaving too soon. Desperate to keep her attention as long as possible, he invited her out. However, since Ana decided to take Kate's car, Jose's car was left in Kate's parking lot, which Ryan fully exploited upon Jose's arrest.

Ryan discovered a few labelled thumb drives and hit the jackpot. It seemed in our fervor to protect Ana and I from a storm of scandal, we had seriously overestimated Rodriguez. In thinking that he wanted to take me down to get to Anastasia, we overlooked the most important element: his obsession with my wife. All of the evidence he had was concentrated in only three locations: on his person, in his car and in his dorm room (where Rodriguez even developed his own photos) and we had access to it all because he was so paranoid and fixated on Ana that he didn't want anything related to her to fall into the hands of anyone else.

After Barney copied and wiped all of his files (at this point I could give a shit what was related to just Ana and I), I enjoyed watching Sawyer and Ryan painstakingly remove the entire creepy-shrine-collage of Anastasia and replace it with one of our own design. After tossing the place, Reynolds had found and bagged Rodriguez's journal, which he was going to bring to Escala. A team shredded _every_ scrap of paper, photos, CDs, floppy disks, memory cards, rolls of film and negatives. His textbooks didn't even survive the purge. It was like a fire sale. Everything had to go. The guys even shredded his homework. They didn't discriminate; for all they knew even his art history thesis may have contained an encrypted manifesto. They sifted through his clothes and disposed of a pair of handcuffs, an almost empty bottle of lube and some suspiciously Ana-sized panties which had not been gently used. After the team was finished, the room was clean, sanitized and looked uninhabited. His previously unmade bed now boasted hospital corners you could bounce a quarter off of. I would have been terrified of this ruthlessly efficient crew if its members didn't work for me and if they didn't like Anastasia enough to be virulently pissed at the bastard on her behalf; Since they did, however, they would each be receiving unexpected, eye-wateringly excessive bonuses this pay period. When the dust settled (whatever dust could accumulate after their assault on his dwelling at any rate), I had laid waste to Rodriguez's pathetically misguided life.

Leaving the control room where Welch and Taylor had helpfully live-streamed the ass-reaming of that sick fuck, I made my way to our bedroom where Anastasia was lying peacefully, her small hand reaching out towards my side of the bed. Even at rest she waits up for me.

I awoke to a most pleasing sensation; Anastasia had my cock's full attention as she bobbed her head, sensually capturing my erection, increasing her suction and using her tongue to alternatively caress then lash me. She continued her erotic assault until I felt my eyes rolling to the back of my head and my abs tighten and flex. Her fingers gently cupped my balls and then she changed positions, her hand now sliding slickly over and around the frenulum, her mouth now wrapped gently over one testicle as she begins to hum. Oh, God, I'm beginning to see stars…

The mystery of her silky slick hand is answered when she removes her other hand from her glistening pussy; dripping wet Ana-flavored juices, still-warm being applied to my now desperate erection. I didn't know what to do. Lay back and accept the greatest head and handjob combo I've ever received, or position her on her hands and knees so I could plunge into her silken depths and quench this early morning fire she's stoked in me.

Lightning quick, I rearrange her body, aligning my cock with her juicy entrance and thrust so deeply her whole body jolts in response. I can feel her walls, tightly squeezing and sliding over and over its sensitive head. I gently press her shoulders to the bed and take one hand, and use my fingers to gently tap and massage her clit as I penetrate her deeply, rotating my hips downward sharply at the end of each thrust. She struggles a little, trying to close her legs to avoid the sensations, but I wrap my body around hers more securely, tightening my hand at her hip, pressing more insistently against her clit, forcing her to absorb the pleasure.

There it is; she begins to shiver, moaning unintelligibly, now attempting to impale herself backwards riding my cock from below, her hips rocking as I thrust, pistoning her now positively dripping wet depths. I take some of that wetness and use my pinky finger to gently press it against her rosebud. If she was incoherent before, she is now convulsing and speaking in tongues. Her walls are becoming more vise-like, trapping my cock inside, I can barely move for the tightness. Struggling against her pussy's resistance, I use my body weight and gravity to increase my pace. She goes silent, then a shrill wail permeates the room as she begins to tremble uncontrollably. She's screaming throatily, "Christi-a-an!" over and over. I feel my release building steadily until she clamps down and it was the Fourth of July and New Years in my pocket-sized Venus as stream after stream of cum squirted into her pussy.

Still trembling, she collapses onto the bed bonelessly. "Hello," she says softly, as if she didn't already rock my morning before six o' clock.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grey. What got into you this morning?"

"Something I want to get into me later," she saucily replied with a wink.

Is this pregnancy hormones? Fuck the pill and the shot. Never using them again. Or condoms. Fuck the dumb shit! This is Nirvana. We're pregnant with twins and I'm already planning triplets for the next pregnancy. Is this why pregnant women are accused of glowing? At this rate I'll look like the fucker in that Enzyte commercial.

It's six-thirty and we have to get to Dr. Greene's office by seven-thirty, so a shower and breakfast were the order of the day. "Later" turned out to be in the shower where Ana was standing with her knee on the shower seat. Oh, what a beautiful morning with breakfast wraps made by Gail on our way to see the doctor. Eating in the car, another first.

We made it just in time. Dr. Greene actually smiled at _both_ of us for a change. She personally escorted us to an examination room and handed Ana a bottle of water that she was directed to drink and an open-back gown… _Oh, the possibilities_. Ana quickly put the gown on, blushing furiously. Did I say that _aloud_? She presented her back so that I could tie the strings. She drank her water and fifteen minutes later, Dr. Greene returned.

"I just want to do your vitals and check you over to make sure you're all right from last night; Then, we can start this party," she said. Has she always been this personable?

After a quick exam, Ana was pronounced in very good health, then instructed to go urinate in a designated cup. She lost me with the stream instructions. When Anastasia left, the doctor asked if all was well after we left the police station. I explained that we had a discussion about her reaction, but otherwise we were fine. She nodded her head and smiled.

When Ana returned, piss cup in hand, the doctor took it away to give it to her nurse. It was like they were playing hot potato with my wife's urine. I wondered how many hands would handle that cup before some poor fucker chained in the basement had to examine it.

"So, are you ready to see the big show?"

"Yes," we exclaimed in concert. It was like being in elementary school all over again. What was it about this experience that made us so cheerful and chipper?

Instead of the probe I've seen on TV, the doctor pulls out a fucking dildo, much, much smaller than me, but still an artificial dick. She called it an "internal probe". Well, I guess it's a good thing I insisted on a female OB/GYN for Anastasia; I didn't give a shit about the subs. I just wanted them lean, clean and ready for the peen. Elena saw to their twats for the most part, though I still performed a few independent tests for additional security. I had never gotten any of them a doctor and never one that made house-calls, no matter how begrudgingly or expensively. Leila didn't count. I thought she was nuttier than a fruitcake and I happened to have a fruitcake specialist on speed-dial and retainer. He practically volunteered to treat her. In retrospect, that may not have been the most logical or ethical thing for him to do.

Back to my wife and the little peen that could. I almost laughed out loud when the doctor lubricated the fucker… hadn't she examined my wife before? Lubrication has _never_ been a problem. I'm worried that Anastasia's becoming a little psychic though, because she sends me a quick look with her eyes narrowed, but then she cracked a smile, too.

The ultrasound seems to look similar to the one we saw on the doctor's tablet, but watching it on the large monitor, hearing Ana's blood whooshing and holding her hand was surreal. Looking at the two black holes that represented my children, I realize this is the closest I'll ever be inside my wife without donating blood or sacrificing an organ. Yes, I'm a jealous, possessive bastard, but Anastasia loves me anyway. I suddenly can't wait to parade her and her baby bump up and down Seattle. When's she going to get that anyway?

I must've lost the plot because the doctor is now addressing me like I'm retarded again. "How many ultrasound photos would you like?"

And like a dumbass, I say ten, as if I'm going to put them in Christmas cards. Who would I send them to? Then Anastasia saves me from my musings by asking if she can have a video of it. They give those away, too? I want one. The doctor presses a couple buttons, inserts a blank disc and suddenly I'm holding our babies' first movie. This is awesome. Anastasia is awesome for giving me this wonderful thing. I have a new appreciation for the Madonna pictures on the walls of the Escala apartment, but I think it's time for them to go. There's only room for one mother in Escala.

How soon can we move into our house? What baby safety features can be integrated now so they look natural and don't detract from the designs that Anastasia has selected? Do I really want to use Gia on this project? Ana can't stand her, and if Gia tries to pull any of her usual inappropriate shit with me, Anastasia might snap and pop her one. I've already had one brush with the violence unleashed by her hormones. Although Ana will never strike me again, all bets are off when it comes to her clocking anyone else. But she's pregnant right now and has already had to fight a grown ass man off. This line of thought is no longer amusing.

The doctor gives Ana a script for a prenatal vitamin that contained more folic acid, calcium, iron, protein and other nutrients, plus an iron supplement as well since Anastasia tends towards anemia. She gives her a diet recommendation sheet which is right up my alley and Ana knows it because she looks at me ruefully for a moment, then hands the sheet over. We were told that we would have more appointments since it was technically a multiple pregnancy and was a slightly higher risk, but all looked good.

She also gave her an appointment card, for _today_ , in the next half hour, in fact, for a Dr. Ericka Weiss, DMFT, LMFT, LMHC, PhD, a therapist with more solid credentials than Flynn. "I managed to get you in on her first free appointment block. She's been a good friend for many years and we work well together. She does counseling for marriage and family and is a licensed psychologist," Dr. Greene said. I didn't care. I was sold, sight unseen. Flynn seemed to focus primarily on individuals who stay individuals. Once you become part of a couple, he's already chosen sides. I remember Ana's face when she came out of his office; she was completely disenchanted. I think she wanted to be wrong, but my "expensive charlatan" let her down. If Anastasia hadn't already decided to marry me, talking to Flynn might have put her off the idea entirely. I don't believe one patient's problems should pay for _one_ house, let alone a vacation cottage, two vacations per year, four cars, a pool, hot tub, gym and country club memberships. Although he seems to believe that Anastasia is the making of me, I think he resents her a little because a happy, healthy Christian isn't nearly as lucrative.

The nurse at the appointment desk gave Ana another card for an appointment two weeks from today at the same time. I made an entry in my calendar that would be cc'd to Andrea since she handled the master calendar. In order for me to never miss one of Ana's prenatal appointments, at least five GEH appointments would have to be rescheduled or cancelled altogether. Look at that, Ana and our babies are already streamlining my schedule and making GEH more efficient. My remaining time slots would become even more valuable as the law of supply and demand kicked in. I know that my appointment schedule was the thing of legend because fifteen minutes with me could make or break you. Even then, the person didn't generally have my full attention. I was usually multitasking: making notes, writing memos, fact-checking, playing Sudoku, planning scenes with a sub (if these bastards wanted to fuck over my time, I'd think about fucking instead), checking on my charitable interests such as food drops and renewable energy projects, looking over investments, imagining the poor fucker on the other side of the desk asking "would you like fries with that" at the end of every sentence. Trust me, nobody wanted or got my full attention unless they had a powerful need to feel like an ant at the wrong end of a magnifying glass on a sunny day. I practiced a version of selective listening: fact, fact, fact, proposal, bottom line. If I liked those five things, I would allow the person to give me a paper version of what they just said; otherwise, I'd send them away to reduce, reuse or recycle.

The psychologist's practice was located very close to Dr. Greene's, so we were easily able to walk the short distance. Anastasia seemed a little nervous, yet determined when we entered the clinic. We went to the desk and Ana was given a two-page, double-sided intake form to fill out and return to the desk. Seven minutes later, Ana had meticulously completed and returned it. Three minutes later, we were called back and directed to an open-concept office. It was the first shrink's office I'd ever seen that didn't have a large desk separating the doctor from the patient. She was either showing a great deal of trust or daring her patients to make her day. It turned out to be a little of both. I was expecting a no-nonsense little gray-haired German lady from her name. Mistake.

Instead, a veritable Amazon entered the office. She was a light-skinned, African-American woman almost as tall as me in heels, with closely cropped and extremely curly auburn hair. I thought she would be very intimidating to Anastasia, but I would have been wrong again. Instead, Ana jumped up and asked, "You're _that_ Ericka Weiss? I've read your book!"

Ana's doctor was published in a book people would pay for? And read with enthusiasm? I felt like somebody stole my lollipop. The doctor blushed a little and did a little self-deprecating head toss. "Guilty."

"Your books are awesome. Christian, she writes fiction stories for children, focusing on feelings and habits that have been disseminated to several school districts in Seattle and the state of Washington. But she only has one nonfiction book published so far. Do you intend to make it a series?"

My shy girl is gone. I suppose it helped tremendously that the doctor was published, which was right up Anastasia's alley. "No, it was a stand-alone book. It was actually never meant to be published for commercial purposes, but my agent and some of my closest colleagues insisted. I was shocked at the reception, actually, I generally write dry treatises for the purposes of staying published rather than perished."

Anastasia giggles and says, "That's what I would be doing if I could've afforded graduate school."

How did I not know that Ana wanted to attend graduate school? On one hand, we probably would never have met, but on the other hand, Ana would have been trapped near Jose for the next three years. She might have been Dr. Rodriguez by that time. So glad she was broke then. Totally willing to send her back to school on my dime with that bastard behind bars.

"So, why are we here today?"

"Because I have a poor self-image, and I _really_ need to fix that before I bring two babies into this world."

The doctor grabs a file, looks through it and drops a bomb in the room, "So when did you lose your mother?"

"When I was seven," Ana said. I'm in shock. Carla is still alive, unfortunately. What the fuck?

"Ana," I begin and am totally shut down by the doctor's palm held straight out in my direction.

"Mr. Grey, there's only truth in this room. You haven't read my book, so you probably don't understand that words don't always mean what you think they mean. If Anastasia, who has, says that her mother died when she was seven, it doesn't mean that," the doctor states, referring to Ana's file, "'Carla' is no longer breathing or walking around, it simply means that she ceased to function as a mother at that time."

And I feel fucked over by Flynn yet again. I'm jealous of my wife's doctor. I, who deal in facts every day, have been totally knocked for six. With that understanding, the crackwhore didn't die when I was _four_ , she probably died when I was almost _two_ , which doesn't seem like a big ass difference unless you're four which is half of your life. It's a paradigm shift that I'm more than willing to internalize. And it all started with one fucking question! Doctors can ask you questions all day; However, unless they ask the right questions, you're stuck, fucking your time away in various therapist's chairs for over twenty years. The "how does that make you feel" fuckers would have been better off asking "would you like fries with that?"

"When did you feel she died," the therapist asked.

"When I started learning to cook small meals for myself and my father Ray when I was seven, because she was never home although she didn't have a job. I felt like I only had one parent, and I had to please him, or else he would leave me, too."

"Did you parents ever hit you?"

"No, Ray would never lay a hand on me."

"Anastasia, for the sake of this conversation, Carla counts as a parent. Did your parents ever hit you," she demanded.

"Yes! She would slap me in the back of my head and call me stupid! She would shove me out of her way. She managed to do it when Ray wasn't around, but I couldn't tell him because if he knew how fucked up she was, he would leave her and since he wasn't my father, I'd lose him, too."

"I see you have his last name. Why were you never adopted?"

"I don't know. It was Carla's decision."

"And was it also Carla's decision to divorce Ray and take you to Texas?"

"Yes."

"Did you like Texas?"

"No."

"Did you like anything about Texas?"

"Yes."

"Name one thing you liked about Texas."

"The back of the 'Welcome to Texas' sign on the bus ride home."

"You sound bitter."

"I felt bitter. Carla left a good man to go fuck one who decided he wanted to fuck me, too and when I resisted, she let him beat me black and blue."

"How does it feel to say that out loud?"

"Better."

"Then why haven't you told anyone before?"

"You know how it is. I've read your book. When bad things happen to you, people treat you like you're not normal. Like you're defective. And sometimes, being 'not normal' is like a homing beacon to predators who think they'll get to fuck you over, too, because no one would notice, because you're fucked up anyway."

And I feel like Ana slapped me again. She wasn't looking in my direction or anything when she said it; she was trying to honestly talk about her situation, but for some reason, the first person who popped into my mind was Elena. Anastasia hates Elena. Anastasia _hates_ Elena. She called her a pedophile. But she helped me. Because she saw I wasn't 'normal' and wanted to fuck me better. Is this my session or Anastasia's?

"Is that why you decided to have your husband here today?"

"Yes, I'd like to think I've never lied to him about my life, but I realize it was just semantics. I told him that my parents never corporally punished me and through verbal gymnastics that was totally true. My 'parent' Ray, never struck me. If I did something wrong, he would send me to my room, make me do chores around the house or make me research what I did wrong and write a report on it. Carla would hit me for no reason at all, so I never considered it 'punishment' because it wasn't. Punishment is supposed to be a consequence for bad behavior. What happened to me in Texas wasn't punishment. I'm the daughter of a Marine. I know enough to disobey unlawful orders. I always knew it was abuse."

"You have questions, Mr. Grey."

"I think you can call me Christian. I feel stupid with you calling my wife Anastasia and me, Mr. Grey, while we're at her session. Ana, how could you go visit her in Savannah after she's done all of that to you?"

"People visit relatives that have abused them in the past all of the time. You may not have read child abuse statistics; I have. If everyone avoided people who have abused or mistreated them when they were children, quite a few people would never attend a family reunion. Besides, I was an adult when I visited her. If she laid her hands on me now, I would lay her out. I learned self-defense from Ray to protect me from people like her and her third husband. Besides, I decided to visit her at your family dinner. Carla had offered an open invitation to visit since she missed my graduation which I didn't accept until that night. I had a lot to consider, so I figured a change of scenery would do me good."

I may not have a lot of respect for the mental health profession, but even I know that honesty was important in therapy. She's still not telling the whole truth to protect my privacy. Perhaps that's why she invited me to her session; she wants my permission to share important details with her therapist. Even though I cancelled and destroyed our nondisclosure agreement, she is refusing to reveal aspects of my life that I want kept private. I love her for that, but she can't get receive adequate help without it.

"Dr. Weiss, Anastasia went to visit Carla because-"

"Christian, don't…"

"I had asked her to become my submissive. I practice BDSM as a Dominant," I told her. I don't know why I expected the doctor to blink, raise an eyebrow or ask for an explanation, but nope.

"Hi, I'm Ericka Weiss. I'm a Switch," she replies and then actually holds out her fucking hand for me to shake. Anastasia looks on bemused. Fuck, I'm bemused, too. But I shook her hand. This is damn surreal. "My sex life doesn't define me, Christian. As long as you keep it safe, sane and consensual, I really don't see the problem. Is your being a Dom a problem for Anastasia?"

"No," Ana answers. "At the time I was visiting Carla, I was going over the contract he wanted me to sign. I had never had any kind of romantic or sexual relationship before and here was this handsome, intimidating man who wanted to 'push my limits' when I didn't even know what my limits were."

"Wait a minute! Are you telling me that you wanted to train a sexual novice to be your sub? Next thing you know, you'll be telling me you showed her to your dungeon."

"Playroom," we answer in stereo. And _that's_ what it took to shock this woman. Before she began to laugh her ass off.

"Oh, my. So, wow. That must have been quite the experience."

"It was," again we both answered.

"Well, I hate to break up this laugh-fest, but needs must. Unfortunately, our time is up. I would like to see you once per week Anastasia. With Ana's permission, you are welcome to come, too."

Anastasia nods slowly. "Thank you, doctor. This has been much better than I thought it would be."

"Be sure to stop at the desk for your appointment card."

"Good-bye," she said, dismissing us.

"Bye."

Ana got her appointment card as instructed and we left to go home. We were going to have to go to work after all.

"Well, that was interesting. That's definitely not in her author bio."

"Could have knocked me over with a feather, too. At least I don't have to worry about judgmental looks from her."

"Does that really happen? What's the use of going to a therapist who looks down on you?"

"I wish you were available to say that to my parents when I was eight," I said.

"I was two then; I don't see how I could have been of much help. What could a therapist have possibly done for you when you were eight years old that your parents couldn't do?"

"Well, first my parents tried talk therapy. The therapists (I went through quite a few) only wanted to talk about how I felt about the crackwhore, but she was long dead, dead half as long as I had been alive at that point and I wanted to forget her. I didn't so much miss her as I missed someone who had my eyes, gave me some cheap toy cars to play with and who had baked me a chocolate cake once. The more they made me talk, the more empty and miserable my life looked. I felt like I didn't deserve my family. Have you ever seen that kids show where they ask "which of these things are not like the others"? That was me. Then there was touch therapy. I think it was in its infant stage because treatment resulted in my haphephobia becoming worse. When I was younger, my mother could at least wash my hair, but after a year of therapy, I didn't want anyone to touch me at all for any reason. Even breathing too hard in my direction could get a kid knocked out."

"Is that where the Bitch Troll came in?"

"Perhaps; after all I had been through, I guess her kink made me feel normal. When you have so much turmoil going on inside, maybe you just need the outside to match."

"I'm the opposite. After all the crap I dealt with living with Carla, I only wanted peace, tranquility and stability for the most part."

"Anastasia, our guys searched Rodriguez's dorm room and car very early this morning…"

"Wait, you're actually going to tell me now?"

"Yes. I should never have left you out of the loop in the first place. I just didn't want you to have to worry about anything. I wanted to protect you."

" _This_ is how you protect me. By telling me the truth so that I'm not blindsided."

"Agreed. Ana, the fucker had a two-wall shrine dedicated to you."

"What?!"

"I thought the exhibit was bad. He had hundreds of photos of you all pasted to two-fucking walls. He was even using a photo of you sleeping as his computer wallpaper. How he managed it, I don't know. Didn't his father or yours ever visit his place?"

"I don't know if Jose Sr. ever visited his room, but when Ray visited, he only came to see me. I never visited his room. It's an all-male dorm and I wouldn't have been comfortable going there, let alone leaving there, especially at night."

"Well, thank goodness for that. They tossed his place and found his journal. He's been stalking you for years. He made other guys think you were dating, but being very discreet about it. He had copies of your UW keys, too."

"Ugh! It just gets worse and worse. Was he ever my friend or was he always my stalker?"

"Do you want to hear the rest now or later?"

"Like a Band-Aid."

"He had bugged your apartment at UW. And he was live-streaming video out of your apartment in Pike Place. He probably saw you at Kate's place. That's why he showed up. He knew you were alone."

APoV

 _He knew you were alone_.

So, I guess I won't be going anywhere alone in the foreseeable future. I used to mind when I thought my security was spying on me. It was just the principle of Christian calling me out of the blue and parroting whatever the CPO told him that rubbed me the wrong way.

But what was I hiding anyway? It wasn't like I was cheating on him or going out trawling for dates when I went out with Kate. I just wanted the experience every other college coed took for granted – except for the gratuitous sex with strangers. Even Jose managed to date fairly frequently. He was just an attractive guy that I simply wasn't attracted to. I can appreciate the _David_ , but that that doesn't mean I would want to fuck him if he wasn't made of marble. Many things appeal to me visually that don't appeal to me carnally. My time in Texas left me with many hurdles and roadblocks when it came to men. Three was handsome in his own way, but he was mean and morally corrupt.

Thinking back, it must have shocked the hell out of Jose when, after all of his painstaking efforts to secure me, I was utterly bowled over by a very handsome man when I had refused other good looking guys over the years. What Jose didn't realize was that I fell for Christian's wicked wit and purposely-hidden philanthropy first. His exceptional looks and embarrassment of riches were actually a deterrent. But who could help falling in love with someone who tried so hard to manufacture a legitimate business excuse for helping other people from the goodness of his heart? He was a mystery; and I loved those.

Christian told me about the lengths that our team went to, erasing all evidence that Jose ever knew me. If he ever gets out of jail, he'll have a stroke. Good. Please, never let him get out of jail. I wonder if Leila's gun is still at the apartment?

E/N: The replacement collage was a compilation of images and text with this theme: "MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN" from the book of Daniel, chapter 5, which has been further extrapolated in one of my favorite movies "A Knight's Tale" to these lines:

Wat: You have been weighed.  
Roland: You have been measured.  
Kate: And you have absolutely...  
Chaucer: Been found wanting.  
William: Welcome to New World. God save you, if it is right that he should do so.

Yes, the security team went medieval on Jose's property, they got disgusted when it became clear that Jose was all about Anastasia 24-7-365. They take it as failure that the subject was allowed to violate their protectee _on their watch_ to such a large-scale degree. They wanted him to have to start from scratch. They were not going to leave him with enough resources to start stalking her again if he gets out on bail. Therefore, his computer is wiped of everything including software. His e-mail has been hacked and his cloud has even been purged. His cameras are there, but all of his work-product has been either taken or nixed. The only way they could prosecute Jose for stalking her for so many years would be to expose Ana to a great deal of public scrutiny. It's bad enough she might have to testify at his assault trial.

About the session with Dr. Weiss: The intake form was four pages long. The last page covers what the patient wants/needs to discuss that day, if the patient wanted to bring someone else to the session, etc. A person's thoughts are private (usually). In this case, Ana needed to share her past experiences with punishment versus abuse and her time in Texas with Christian. Would you want to be growing children with that crap in your head? CG won't be invited to or even attend all of her sessions. He is smart enough to realize that _he_ was the only one surprised by the initial question.

Next post: Taylor takes the gloves off and gives Anastasia the what-for when it comes to her personal security and Christian cuts the apron strings.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	7. Chapter 7

DID I MENTION NEED A BETA?

A/N: Taylor takes the gloves off and gives Anastasia the what-for in a drastic way to increase her respect for personal security, Ana has an epiphany at work and Christian cuts the apron strings. ***Trigger Warning – Extreme Anxiety Attack and Abduction***

 **Chapter 7: A New Beginning**

 _You can fight all you like  
You'll not bring me in  
Control as you might  
You're not getting a thing_

 _Take flight satellite  
And drift into space  
We're all on a flight  
We're all a little insane_

 _Light fell I wished upon the stars  
that filled the sky  
But they were only satellites_

 _I'd like to say I'm sorry  
I'd like to say I'm wrong  
I wish I could control myself  
And feel like I belong_

 _Christian told me about the lengths that our team went to, erasing all evidence that Jose ever knew me. If he ever gets out of jail, he'll have a stroke. Good. Please, never let him get out of jail. I wonder if Leila's gun is still at the apartment?_

TPoV

"We were so happy today. Does it have to be now? I'll explain everything and Anastasia will understand," Mr. Grey pleaded for the third time. Maybe he'll have a cute puppy he wants to bring home next. He gave his word, or his nod which is the same thing. I'm trying to keep him alive. Only Gail and I saw him the dark days after she left him. If it wasn't for the fact that GEH could practically run itself by now, he'd have really lost the plot. We saw that man fall apart and it was a revelation. He spent hours meticulously assembling the glider Mrs. Grey gave him. If she ever went somewhere he couldn't follow, it would be the end of everything. So my role is simple: ensure Anastasia Grey lives to a ripe old age.

I really wish that Christian Grey had read the Bible, specifically the Old Testament. Proverbs would have helped. " _He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes."_ Yes, I know it refers to a parent and child, but "errant wives" fall firmly under that category. The things that she's pulled since she started dating Mr. Grey have pushed a full team of military-trained CPOs almost to the brink.

The most difficult assignments for CPOs are usually teenagers or clients who like to make snap-decisions or make unplanned stops. Spontaneity is dangerous. One of her previous CPOs, Belinda Prescott, was so at wit's end with her, she wanted to be fired by the end. Mrs. Grey was like a child who plays both parents off against one another. She knew what Prescott had been ordered to do and used her position as the client's wife to override her instructions. Great! The one time she exercises the power of being the wife of a billionaire, she uses it to screw the little people. A resignation would read as failure in our line of work, but a termination, strangely enough, could be chalked up to incompatibility or philosophical differences. I made sure that Prescott was given a glowing recommendation and a generous severance package.

"Do you love your wife," I asked firmly.

"I love my wife," he replied, his voice stronger.

"Do you love her enough to let her experience a little pain and fear now, to save her death and devastation later?"

"Yes," he ground out.

"Then you must leave her to us."

Mr. Grey left for work, dejectedly. They were positively ecstatic when they returned home today, which is why this must be done now. Many people have heard the saying about striking while the iron is hot, but they don't really understand it. They know that it means grasping opportunity in a timely fashion, but that's about all.

It's a term used in metallurgy, coined in a time when blacksmiths were fairly common. The process of making things out of metal first requires heat, immense heat. The metal would have to be red-hot. Then, the artisan would "strike" the now malleable material with a mallet or some other tool before it cools, while it can still be shaped.

Anastasia Grey is that metal now. She's so stubborn, she won't bend and she thinks she knows it all. She hasn't seen photos of a child beheaded after an abduction, a son of a newspaper tycoon missing an ear, an empty stroller because the wealthy new mother just had to take her child for a walk while enjoying the fresh air of Central Park. With all the horrors she's experienced in her life, I would have expected her to be a little more street-smart, but somehow she's stubbornly held on to her rose-colored glasses. Well, today we're ripping them off and stomping them like Rodriguez destroyed her phone.

We have to do this before the media notices the baby bump and causes a frenzy with their efforts to get a money shot that may result in an injury to Mrs. Grey. We have to do this now, while she is newly married before the really bad habits kick in, like walking away from the client in a crowded intersection or attempting to keep up with single friends like that Kate Kavanagh, who seems to delight in screwing Mr. Grey over by leading his wife by the nose.

This is why today, when Mrs. Grey leaves for work, Sawyer will escort her in, as usual. He will also make himself scarce, since Mrs. Grey doesn't want to make her co-workers uncomfortable. Fuck her own safety, these sorry fucks (who should be thanking their Lucky Charms, Green Clovers, Blue Diamonds, Purple Horseshoes that an obsessed man purchased a struggling publishing house, literally ripping it from the jaws of bankruptcy, all in order to stalk his future wife, and saved their jobs as a side-effect) might not respect her. While she is heavily occupied with a job that doesn't even pay a quarter of his yearly salary, Sawyer will slip away. As will Reynolds, Ryan, Mr. Grey and I. We will go radio-silent, and Mrs. Grey will be left hanging out to dry.

Last night, we implemented Project Safety Net on Mrs. Grey's behalf. As with any organization being considered for acquisition by GEH, several of "his" people apply for positions, usually far in advance of proposals, negotiations and offers. They aren't key positions or jobs that would inspire a great deal of scrutiny because he just needs them on the premises. As with any conflict, it's always a good idea to have boots on the ground. These employees are ghosts. Everything in their applications, resumes, and references check out. Even a deep background check doesn't throw up any red flags. They're ideal new hires. Any company would be foolish not to hire them. Every so often, GEH will investigate the employees as a part of their due diligence and "uncover" a mole in the company's personnel. The owners and management of affected companies are usually so shocked and grateful that GEH saved them from their corporate spies, completely unaware that GEH positioned them there in the first place. Amateurs.

GEH doesn't place employees to steal proprietary information; it places them there to make sure that company executives don't steal any of the work-product, proprietary information or goodwill that Mr. Grey is about to pay for. It wouldn't take much for greedy or entitled people about to be fired or retired to walk it out the front door in cardboard boxes or carry it away on not-so-golden parachute rides, and with current technology they can even put it on the cloud. The most vulnerable time security-wise for a company is during its initial public offering, merger or sale. And Grey is all about security. Thousands of man-hours are riding on it.

Mrs. Grey's phone was replaced as soon as they returned home last night; we have many replacement phones on hand. We only have to insert the chip into the replacement phone, or barring that, re-download contact info from the cloud. Mr. Grey tends to take out as much frustration on cellular phones and keyboards as he used to on his sex-bots. A courier will deliver the phone to her office after Sawyer's departure. Her replacement phone has been lo-jacked to hell and back and loaded with several proprietary monitoring apps to maintain around the clock surveillance, providing remote access to all calls, messages, user keystrokes, audio and video. Her office and all major areas of egress have also been equipped with a new surveillance system, installed by security employees on-site.

We've tried hard to treat her like every other high profile protectee, but she's made it impossible. All it takes is a friend saying "you've changed", "he's so controlling", "we never _ anymore", "I miss you" or just fucking pouting for her to lose her ever-loving mind and have CPOs scrambling to make as many preparations for her safety as possible while risking their jobs, their lives and her own just so she can have cocktails with a friend when she has a full-bar and a wine cellar at home. Hell, Gail would happily mix the drinks for them. Mr. Grey even has his own club, the Mile High, but no, Ms. Kavanagh just had to go to the Zig Zag Café, she's already booked the table – read unprotected, unsafe, a great location to bend us all over without Vaseline since Ms. Kavanagh has already alerted possible paparazzi and perps that Mrs. Grey is coming. I swear, get them both in the same room or even on a phone call and bullshit ensues. Dealing with both Mrs. Grey and Ms. Kavanagh is like trying to ice-skate uphill; virtually impossible and any progress is repaid by slicing yourself with the blades attached to your feet.

Great, it's 1130 hours. She's leaving work at 1200. Time to rock 'n roll.

I make the call with a sigh, close my eyes and say the fateful words, "Garza, Operation Safety Net is a go. Time to meet the Belle of the Ball."

CPoV

Just suffered through my eighth appointment of the day. My mind keeps returning to the confrontation between Taylor and I. We don't have a contentious relationship. But Ana. And our babies. Maybe this isn't the right time to make this kind of a play. Isn't stress bad for expectant mothers? _Rape and death are worse, moron._ Criminals won't give a shit; knowing she was pregnant could only result in a bigger payday.

The first thing I did after we were engaged was filter all the shit communication coming Anastasia's way. She already hated the money. The last thing I wanted her to figure out was how much of a target it had made her. I guess I didn't care if we were both in prison as long as we were together sharing a cell. But Ana did. She wanted to spread her wings and I had already clipped them.

Her inbox, both real and virtual, was being bombarded with bitterly unhappy, criminally twisted missives. Death threats, rape threats, kidnap threats, blackmail and extortion schemes, requests and demands for donations, Trojan horses, spyware, malware, pictures of dead people, pictures of dead animals, pictures of us with her face cropped out, X'd out, burnt off. The pictures actually showing her head were worse. Blood coming from stab wounds painted with red nail polish. Her beautiful cerulean eyes gouged out. Her head pasted on naked bodies that had been vaginally or anally raped, sometimes both. Ripped, torn or amputated appendages and extremities, including her breasts.

Her actual snail mail box had letters from lovers from both high school and college. Requests for organs from long-lost nonexistent relatives. Threats to kill or kidnap her parents. Letters accusing her of stealing me away. Letters accusing her of being my beard. Some were from ex-subs, which after the Leila shit, I thoroughly ruined in retaliation. Some lost jobs, homes and cars. I even anonymously helped one of their husbands file for divorce. Some of the worse letters contained identifying information such as previous addresses and phone numbers. Those were taken very seriously and painstakingly backtracked to an asshole who used to work with her at Clayton's, not Paul, but still. The packages were pretty bad, too. Stuffed animals, dolls and underwear (both new and used) made up roughly half of them.

Every night I returned to see her safe at home was a comfort, but I still had to worry about the next day and the next. It just didn't occur to her that her life had changed. Any steps I took to keep her safe were labelled controlling. When I found out that she was riding the bus after leaving me, I suffered an anxiety attack. Far too many people had seen that graduation photo. It had made several papers. They may as well have been captioned "Christian Grey Paints Target on Girlfriend's Back" for all the good they did. If Leila could find her and get a gun within days, goodness knows what these other fuckers are capable of. Her boss was sending her out for sandwiches and there she was, walking merrily along no Sawyer in sight. It was like she was thumbing her nose at disaster.

 _I_ get death threats. _My family_ gets death threats. Sure, I possess a great deal of money and own many toys. A plane, helicopter, glider and a huge fleet of cars and SUVs kitted out with armor and bulletproof glass. Safety first. Some people love me for my money, my looks and the fact that I used to be single, which gave men and women alike hope. Others hate me for having more than they do. They want the money, but either don't see how hard I worked for it or don't care. There are women who want to be seen with me, date me or marry me, whether or not I was gay. They don't even care that I'm currently married. They'll wait for me. There are women who I've never met claiming that I fathered their children. I'm the goose that lays the golden eggs. Most want the gold, but there are also the fucked up individuals who want this goose's neck on the chopping block. My gander's neck would work in a pinch, too. It doesn't help that she insists on sticking hers out by turning her nose up at the very idea of security.

Ana likes to keep her security as far away from her as possible. She practically has Sawyer working as the doorman of Grey Publishing. Has she never heard of workplace violence? She's certainly experienced it for herself in that very building, when it was still SIP. Perhaps she believes that attack was a one-off, but I know better. Hyde was too bold and intimidating for this to be his first time at the rodeo and he must've had help. He'd gone through assistants like toilet paper. Assistants can be incompetent (like Olivia), but the chances of him falling victim to a dozen incompetent assistants in a row beggars belief. Upper management realized this, which is why they gave her the job as interim commissioning editor. An expensive lawsuit if charges were pressed could have several of Jack's former assistants crawling out of the woodwork. They didn't want that. It helped tremendously that Ana was too embarrassed to press charges or even threaten to sue. So, for a whopping whole ten-thousand-dollar annual increase, they had virtually gagged the most reliable witness against Jack Hyde. She didn't even file a report.

This, along with other episodes of immaturity and recklessness, is why today, after our happiest moments, I'm turning my wife over to Taylor. He has several years' worth of experience in exfiltration, both hostile and friendly. He also has my trust. He's the only person I'd trust to plan and execute the abduction of my wife.

I looked at my phone and placed my hand on my head, fingers splayed into my scalp, open palm resting on my forehead, running it down my face, over my eyes in worry and frustration. _Do you love your wife?_ Fourth crisis of conscience of the morning temporarily averted. Radio silence.

APoV

Sawyer was somewhat abrupt today. I hate to have security so close to me when I'm working. My co-workers are always scrutinizing me, especially now that I'm the boss's wife. It was bad enough when we were just engaged. They think Christian gave me this job when he didn't even want me to have a job at all. He wants to give me the whole publishing house, but it's not something I want or am ready for. Perhaps if I had been able to pursue a Master's degree, I would feel more confident, but the money just wasn't there and I didn't want to have to rely on Ray as long as it would take me to start earning a living wage.

I received my new phone by courier, practically by the time I sat behind my desk. It was identical to the one Jose broke and had all my contacts. Great! I had time to make several calls and read two manuscripts before it was almost time for lunch which was when I was going home today. Hannah had prepared my schedule for tomorrow. I grabbed my things, stopping at the lavatory to refresh myself just before leaving. A few ladies entered the bathroom while I was inside the stall. They were giggling and laughing. And talking about _me_.

"So, how long do you think it will take for her to get Elizabeth's job," one woman asked.

The other woman said, "Connie, you're thinking too small. Forget Elizabeth, what about Roach's?"

"That's not fair. She's been doing a great job since she's been here and Jack left her some great reviews."

"Sure he did. She has legs up to her armpits. Now she has his job. Why did he quit again," asked Connie.

"I don't know, but don't you think it's strange that Elizabeth let him hire about ten assistants in the past two years? Something was going on there. Did they used to date or something? He was a total grab-ass with his last three or four assistants."

"Yeah, but all of them would cringe when he came into the room," said the woman I finally recognized as Fiona. "I wonder how they got any work done."

Connie whispered urgently. "Terry, she's only been working here a minute, she has Jack's job and she took a month off for her honeymoon with Christian Grey. How soon do you think it will be before Lady Bountiful becomes the Queen of Hearts?"

"Ana Grey doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She's nice to everybody, keeps her head down, does good work and doesn't make waves," said Fiona.

"Everyone in the industry realizes you have to know people to move up in publishing. She got the job _before_ they started dating, and before Mr. Grey bought this place. It's no coincidence that she's the only assistant that didn't quit without giving notice or get fired. Mark my words," said Terry, ending the conversation.

The three women exited the bathroom and I was in a state of shock. One of the other assistants had told me to keep a desk between that asshole and myself, but I had no fucking idea how bad he was. Worse, it seems everybody knew about him. Was there something going on between Elizabeth Morgan and Jack? Is that why she was on the panel that interviewed me? Did she help provide him with other interns to harass?

Will my co-workers _always_ regard me with suspicion or treat me with disrespect no matter how hard I worked because I dated and married the man who saved their fucking jobs? He told me SIP was on the cusp of bankruptcy but all I could see was his interference with my career. Jack even admitted he only hired me because he remembered me from the fucking graduation picture. Why did he give a shit about Christian?

I wash my hands and leave the restroom. I'm so glad to be leaving early today. I make my way to the elevators. I say my goodbyes to Claire in reception and exit the building. I don't see Sawyer anywhere.

There's a young, tall and slim, red-headed woman passing by the building, pulling her hair, crying and yelling. She calls out, "Robbie! Where did you go? Where are you? Has anybody seen my little boy? Please help."

A few pew people pause, but keep walking. Nobody is helping this poor woman find her child. What the hell kind of world is this? I gently touch her, trying to calm her and ask, "Can I help you?"

"I was shopping in that store over there and my three-year old son Robbie broke away from me in this direction, but I don't see him anywhere!"

I decided to help her, and Sawyer could help as well whenever he showed up. We walked in the direction she had indicated, looking in both directions. That poor little boy, this poor woman. As we got closer to the end of the block, she slowed down. Why was she slowing down? Her child could be in danger!

A white van screeched its way right in front of us, the side door slid open and a tall, heavyset man wearing a ski-mask hauled me into the vehicle. Before I could even fight back or scream for help, I was gagged, blindfolded and my hands were zip-tied behind my back. The woman chuckled, "Just like taking a candy from a baby, Roberts. Rich Bitch didn't even have security."

I guess this was 'Robbie'. Fuck my life. As the van sped away with me inside, I sadly realized that my daylight abduction in a heavily populated area, including the ruse, took less than three minutes.

The drive was relatively short. I felt a falling sensation; we must be entering an underground parking facility. No-one spoke the entire ride. The fact that they weren't yelling or threatening me was far more frightening. Was I being taken to their leader? Or a disposal site?

The van stopped. The driver exited the vehicle; I heard footsteps walk around to the sliding door. The door was yanked open, and I felt a push to my back as I was pulled out of the vehicle. I tried to yell but it was muffled and I was dragged somewhere else. Someone, Roberts I think, pushed me into a rolling cart with doors. I knew I was in an elevator because I could hear the ding every time we reached a floor. There were three dings; I was on the third floor, somewhere. The storage cart was rolled somewhere. I heard someone using a two-way radio; their contact must be somewhere nearby.

A male voice says, "The belle's at the ball."

Am I the belle of the ball? Do they normally arrive in a fucking storage cart? A voice over the radio replies, "Check her ensemble."

The door of the cart opens and I'm jerked out. Rough hands move over my body, searching me. A smaller hand takes off my watch, earrings and my wedding set. I was sobbing. This was the most horrible experience of my life. I could hear someone dump the contents of my purse, rifling through its contents. The woman starts itemizing everything. "Wallet, keys, tea bag, loose change, phone, _prenatal pills_ …Eureka, folks! Rich Bitch is carrying a freeloader."

"Hand over the phone." There's some rustling, and I hear my phone beep. "Phone's locked. Get the code," the man commands. The woman removes my gag. My mouth and jaw hurt.

"Rich Bitch, what's the code to your phone?"

"What," I ask stupidly. My arms hurt. I'm tired and I'm thirsty. She jerks me forward and speaks slowly, as if she's speaking to someone retarded, "Rich Bitch, what… is… the… code… to… your… phone? Make me ask again and you lose something that can't be sewn back on."

"0-6-1-8," I answer shakily.

"Aw…how sweet! Hubby's birthday. Aren't you a good little wifey! Robbie, the code is the husband's birthdate!"

"I'm thirsty," I say.

"Robbie, get Rich Bitch some water. We need her alive for this next part."

Is there a part they won't need me for? What fresh hell is this? I wish I let Sawyer stay in the building with me now. He wouldn't have fallen for a woman-with-a-lost-child story. I fell for one of the oldest tricks in the world because I wanted to help a stranger. And she's calling me "Rich Bitch" like I don't have a name or a job. Just because Christian is rich, doesn't make me rich, does it? I still have student loans to pay because obviously I don't expect my husband who dropped twenty grand on a few books to pay my bills. Stupid. Stupid, stupid! Why am I sacrificing my life lives working for a company where no-one respects me? When I get home, I want Christian to sell it lock, stock and barrel. Fuck them all. I hope he fires every last one of them, especially Jerry Roach and Elizabeth Morgan!

CPoV

Anastasia never called me when she arrived at work. When her day ended, I waited for a half-hour when I got word from Taylor that his little operation was a go. I hope when this is over she forgives me, but I'd rather her pissed at me than dead. At the beginning, we tried to have her follow at least _some_ of the basic protocols, but she didn't give a shit. She didn't seem to care that even _I_ had to adhere to them. She defied me at every turn and she was very disrespectful of our security. She hardly ever let them know beforehand when she was leaving or where she was going, so Sawyer often had to be directed to follow her after she had already left. Taylor had been at me to show her the lay of the land for weeks, but I had resisted and procrastinated. Well, enough of that shit. Her "date" with Rodriguez was the very last straw.

The secondary team, the group of individuals that follow me when I think I'm alone, have just picked her up from work. They used the "lost child" ruse to abduct her and Anastasia fell for it hook, line and sinker. Taylor told me she would, but I refused to believe it. Her kindness could be the death of her.

I would be in a much worse state if I didn't know she was safe in a suite at the Fairmont Olympic. The team has only been authorized to speak to her rudely, handle her roughly (but not enough to injure) and scare the living shit out of her so episodes like last night and the simulation this afternoon never happen again.

While Anastasia is safe, I busy myself taking steps to ensure that Elena Lincoln has no ties to me. I gifted her my stake in her business, but I see evidence that she has been using some older lines of credit I had long forgotten about. If I'm no longer in business with her, I definitely don't want to have her running it on my dime. I only want to wash my hands of her, but it seems as if she's not going to walk away quietly.

All of the other ex-subs have had visits from my lawyers since Leila and Susannah dropped by. In-depth discussions took place, explaining the scope and length of the non-disclosure contracts they signed, focusing on the myriad ways they could break the contract nonverbally and the fact that the agreements would follow them posthumously. It also didn't occur to most of them that the contracts were unilateral, protecting only my privacy. They were soon persuaded to sign additional no-contact agreements forbidding them from either direct or indirect contact with me, or anyone affiliated with me (namely my wife and family) for the rest of their lives.

Leila and Susannah were special cases; I felt particularly wrathful after determining the lengths to which she went to fuck Anastasia and me over. I still had possession of the gun she used on my wife and a copy of her concealed carry permit. While I couldn't prosecute, I could still make life very uncomfortable for that miserable bitch and her sidekick, Susie. Why do these bitches care if I'm "happy"? It's none of their fucking business. I could be the saddest and sorriest fucker in the world and I still wouldn't fuck them with the garbage man's dick. When I'm finished, I'm finished. These were never romantic relationships no matter how kind or friendly I may have appeared to be on very rare occasions after I had fucked and whipped them retarded. I'm a very generous man, especially when I'm getting my way. I could actually afford to support them all indefinitely if I wanted and never notice the expense; however, the only two that received any extended support post-contract were an ex-sub attending medical school and Leila with her non-fucking-existent mental issues.

The gravy train ends now. I call Flynn's answering service and leave a message explaining that I will no longer be paying for her medical services and to stop billing me immediately. If she wants art school, she should pursue tuition in her divorce settlement. I only kicked Anastasia out of the apartment because I knew Leila so well. She liked being punished so much that she would take her punishment then later confess to yet another infraction so I could punish her again. So when I found her holding Ana at gunpoint, I suspected that the gun wasn't the only weapon she had. She assumed the submissive stance and discarded the gun far too quickly for my liking. I know Ana thought we were safe, but she didn't have a clue. I needed Leila calm. Maybe I should have told Ana about the hunting knife and razor-wire I found on Leila when I searched her. I guess Leila thought I would "punish" her for holding out on me. I washed off the surface dirt, dressed her and hustled her out of Ana's apartment ASAP. It wasn't sexual. It was expedient. The last thing I wanted was neighbors to witness me with a crazed woman, kicking, screaming, cursing and threatening Ana and me. At that time, privacy and discretion seemed paramount. I know better now.

After Leila and Susannah sign the new iron-clad no-contact contract, I will have them both blackballed in the community. I may have used Elena to provide subs, but when I traveled out of the country between subs, I was an active part of the European community. I know a couple people in France with whom I could have a word that would blackball them both internationally. Word will eventually travel to Washington and their well of BDSM dick would dry up and they would have to find real jobs or sugar-daddies.

It's been almost an hour since Taylor checked in; I anxiously await his next call. He assured me it would be over soon. I hope that I was right to trust him. Will Anastasia ever forgive me for allowing this?

APoV

"Hey Rich Bitch, you want something to eat?" She removes my gag. What was with this angry bitch? Isn't it bad enough I'm a captive, handcuffed to a bedframe? I'm scared and I am hungry, but should I eat anything they give me? Fuck it, I already drank the water.

"Yes, please," I replied. I would at least try to appear polite. I don't think _my_ rudeness would be rewarded and I have to feed my babies. She replaces my gag and I hear her footsteps fade away.

Minutes later, she returns with food on a platter. The food has already been cut into bite size pieces and she replaces the silverware with a plastic-wrapped spork. She places the tray on the nightstand and walks out of the room with the silverware. When she comes back, she asks me what hand I write with and motions to the right or left. I shake my right hand and she uncuffs that one after removing my gag. She has transferred the food to a paper plate. I feel like I'm in kindergarten. She puts the food on my lap and tells me to eat, leaving another open bottle of water.

What do these people want? Other than taking me against my will, insulting me and issuing a few threats, my captors have made no real demands or hurt me in any substantial way. They haven't demanded a ransom or called my husband though it's apparent that they know who he is. They're even feeding me what looks like a healthy meal: roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. There's even an apple-cinnamon muffin for dessert. What kind of kidnapping is this?

CPoV

Taylor's call comes precisely one hour after his last call. "Is she all right? Has she eaten?"

"Yes, sir. Roast beef and sides with a muffin for dessert. There was a brief situation when Patterson found Mrs. Grey's pills, but it was handled."

"Patterson?"

"Melissa Patterson. She's the CPO I wanted to use after you fired Belinda Prescott. She might actually be a better fit if Mrs. Grey ever wants to see her or any of us again after today. Melissa had to speak rather rudely to her to get a reaction."

"As long as they don't frighten her beyond her limits or hurt her," I said. "When will this be over?"

"We're on our way to you now, sir. We'll be going to the rendezvous point for a debrief. All the recordings have been collated and the report of the event has been printed."

"Why so quickly?"

"Because we're going to show it to Mrs. Grey when we get there."

Fuck!

APoV

After I finish eating, Rude Bitch cuffed both hands, gagged and blindfolded me again. She then retrieved the plate and spork. What the hell was I going to do with a spork?

Minutes later, there's some commotion and two people enter the room, by the number of different footsteps. I'm uncuffed from the bedframe, re-cuffed, taken out of the room and placed in the cart again. The two-way radio makes two beeps and we're on the go once more. We're back on the elevator, only we're going up, up, up… I hear about 15 beeps. I guess we're meeting the leader. When you're already in a bad situation, going to the top floor doesn't seem like a good thing. I resolve to stay calm.

The cart is rolled out of the elevator and to an open room. I'm taken from the cart and the blindfold is removed. I'm directed to a conference room, and seated at a long table boasting a dozen chairs, facing a large screen. My cuffs and gag are removed. I see Rude Bitch and Roberts faces clearly for the first time, along with a few others. I've seen their faces. I can identify them all. Are they going to kill us now?

"Are you going to kill me now," I ask calmly. I feel like I have nothing to lose. I was abducted off the sidewalk in public in less than a few minutes. They haven't asked for money and I've seen their faces. Was my last meal roast beef? I wish they had asked what I wanted to eat then. I'm not a real big fan of beef.

No-one answers and then a video starts playing on the large screen. It's me, coming out of GP at noon. Rude Bitch is still a mother looking for her lost child. There's audio to prove it. The video plays up to the minute that I'm blindfolded, bound and gagged. Then it faded out. The room is silent.

"What is this," I ask.

A voice I'd recognize anywhere replies, "This is what happens when a woman worth billions of dollars prances around without security. This is what could happen, and has happened to rich or famous people just for being rich and famous." Then he cues the video again, displaying picture after picture of dead adults and children, some stabbed, some shot, one blue in the face, perhaps from being smothered or strangled and the last was just a baby with a crushed skull, the photo black and white…

Taylor pauses the video. "That was the Lindbergh baby. The ransom was paid and this was the result."

"Taylor, what's going on?"

"Your orientation. We're here to teach you the skills you need to save your life. Rule one: never go anywhere without your security."

"You had me kidnapped to teach me a lesson?!" I was infuriated. I was devastated. I had never been this angry in my life. I thought I would be killed. That my babies would be murdered inside me.

"Taylor didn't have you abducted, Anastasia. I did," says Christian strolling into the room. I did the only thing I could at this revelation. I fainted.

E/N: We're one day off from Mia's abduction.

 **My definition of a Beta (because each writer has different needs):**

 _To me a Beta is a pre-reader (which means he/she will be the first set of eyes after mine who see my story), editor (proofreader who checks spelling, grammar, cohesiveness, flow, plot holes, characterization, fact-checker (a person with expertise in the fields mentioned in my story as it contains a lot of elements that would seem TOTALLY implausible if I didn't dedicate hours to outside research | military; personal, corporate and information security; mergers & acquisitions; corporate espionage; criminal law; obstetrics & gynecology; and mental health)._

 _My average chapter word count is about 5k and I try to upload a chapter every other day. I post teasers on Facebook for the next installment, usually ½ day after the previous chapter is uploaded. I follow the dictum of publish or perish when it comes to writing because I know that if I didn't type at least 1,000 words per day, my story would be in hiatus and I don't want that._

Next post: Fallout from the kidnap simulation. Jose gets his one phone call. Mia is in jeopardy.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	8. Chapter 8

I have a BETA Ladies (and Gents), Sherryola from FF is my new beta. Give her a warm round of applause. I sent her around 6K words last night and she had them back for me in around two hours. The fact that she's a night-owl or early-bird like me is definitely a point in her favor. She caught around four mistakes right away, and then I found a few more things I wanted to tweak. These are things I only noticed AFTER using her skill as a pre-reader. NOTHING beats a second set of eyes.

A/N: [So, I've received quite a few interesting responses from my last chapter. Christian has just done the unthinkable, but is it unforgivable?] Fallout from the kidnap simulation. Will their relationship be permanently fractured? Jose gets his one phone call.

 **Chapter 8: Uninvited**

 _Like anyone would be  
I am flattered by your fascination with me  
Like any hot-blooded woman  
I have simply wanted an object to crave_

 _But you, you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight_

 _Must be strangely exciting  
To watch the stoic squirm  
Must be somewhat heartening  
To watch shepherd meet shepherd_

 _But you you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight_

 _Like any uncharted territory  
I must seem greatly intriguing  
You speak of my love like  
You have experienced love like mine before_

 _But this is not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight_

 _I don't think you unworthy  
I need a moment to deliberate_

" _You had me kidnapped to teach me a lesson?!" I was infuriated. I was devastated. I had never been this angry in my life. I thought I would be killed. That my babies would be murdered inside me._

" _Taylor didn't have you abducted, Anastasia. I did," says Christian strolling into the room. I did the only thing I could at this revelation. I fainted._

CPoV

Ana slid, unconscious, boneless, from her chair to the floor. Ms. Patterson, the tall redhead, jumped into action, half lifting, half dragging Anastasia to a nearby sofa, placing her on it and elevating her head and feet. "Should we call her doctor," I asked, running my fingers through my hair.

"Not yet, sir. Give her a few minutes. She's just fainted from the shock," said Taylor.

Of course she would faint, you fuckwit! I know that I've made a terrible mistake. I let my worries and fears take control of me, and I've retaliated by terrorizing Anastasia. She wasn't even this angry when she slapped me. I don't expect her to forgive me any time soon, if ever. Several times today, my conscience pricked me, but I refused to relent. She will see this situation as a betrayal and she would be correct. When it comes to her safety, there has to be a better way, a middle path we could have travelled to avoid this clusterfuck.

"Boss, this is fucked up. You told us this was just a drill," whisper-shouted the redhead who seems to be have taken charge of the situation. She continued, "Garza just told us this was just a routine snatch-and-grab. We had to go completely off-script, and then I find out the target's pregnant? Is this fucker trying to kill his wife?"

"Patterson, you're out of line."

"No, Garza. This whole assignment was out of line. The target had absolutely no idea she was in any danger. The only way that could happen is if she's been kept totally in the dark and fed a shit diet. If this is her _first_ lesson in security, you're already months overdue. I'm all for taking one for the team, but you used me to scare the living shit out of this woman. You've seen my jacket. I may as well have been abusing a child. I quit!"

"Wait," a voice called weakly from the sofa. Ana was trying to sit up, so I rushed to her side. She held a hand up, halting me in my tracks. "Stay away from me, Christian. Patterson, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Patterson."

She chuckled, "Quite a change from calling me Rich Bitch, huh? But I still think ma'am is a little too formal. I'm Anastasia Steele. In case you're wondering, this is where you tell me your first name." Rich Bitch? Anastasia _Steele_?

"My name is Melissa. Melissa Patterson," the redhead offers, standing at attention.

"Good. So, I heard you quit your job. I might have an opening." _An opening for what?_

"Excuse me?" asked Patterson, bewildered. Yes, please share because I also haven't a fucking clue what's going on.

"Well, it seems I'm in need of a CPO and you're in need of a job. Sounds like a win-win, to me."

"Anastasia, Sawyer's your CPO," I stated reasonably.

"Well, he certainly wasn't this afternoon," she replied hotly. "In fact, I haven't seen Sawyer since this morning. Where is he, pray tell?"

"Do you want me to call him," I ask, preparing to dial.

"No. I don't. Right now I wouldn't piss on any of you bastards if you were on fire. I asked you where he is, and instead, you offer to contact him. I just want to be a hundred percent sure where all of my enemies are located."

"I'm not your enemy, Ana," I said.

"Could've fooled me. Didn't you just claim responsibility for my abduction? Kinda hard to imagine we're friends when you pull shit like this. Just yesterday, another former 'friend' was trying to fuck me over. I think it's about high time I took ownership of my own safety, dontcha think," she threw in sarcastically.

"I was trying to keep you alive. You're so reckless. You never listened to me. I didn't know what else to do," I replied desperately.

"So, let me get this straight. You're putting this all on me? Your idea of teaching me the importance of security is to frighten me nearly to death and prove to me that I can't trust any of these bastards with whom you surround yourself? Great! This is _just_ fucking great. Did you never think that I might have been a little more cooperative if you didn't assign me CPOs whose sole duty seem to be policing my goddamn panties?" She shouted.

"Calm down, Anastasia. You're blowing this all out of proportion. You were only taken for a couple hours and were kept in the lap of luxury," I said.

She looked at me skeptically and began to laugh hysterically as she asked, "Lap of luxury? I was grabbed off the street, dragged into a van, rolled around in a cart and cuffed to a bedframe. Where or how long all this fucking travesty took place is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that _you_ broke my trust, Christian, and you and each of your thrice-damned minions violated my civil liberties. Where are my purse and the rest of my things?"

Garza scrambled to get the large clear plastic evidence bag containing her possessions and bring it to her. Ana took it from him carefully. "Thank you, Garza. It's so nice to finally have my belongings back," she said sweetly. "Now, let me see: one Blackberry, one battery for said Blackberry, my purse, prenatal vitamins, keys, wallet, change purse and wedding set. I can already think of at least two items I won't be needing for the immediate future," she continued snidely.

"Which items won't you be needing, Ana," I asked, nervous and frightened of her next words.

"I'm not entirely sure; I haven't decided yet. However, I do know this: two men attempted to violate me in less than twenty-four hours, and only my husband succeeded."

"I know what I did was wrong; several times I thought about reaching out to you, to Taylor, but I was consumed by terror that one day someone would hurt you because of your kind heart and stubborn belief in the innate goodness of everyone."

"Funny you should mention terror; I experienced a great deal of terror these past two hours. But you're the last person in this room that should complain about my ability to forgive considering you've benefitted much from that very quality in the past. We both know all about second chances, considering I was wearing the embodiment of them today. What's interesting though, is that they weren't in the bag Garza just handed me. I wonder why that is?"

Anastasia _was_ wearing those earrings. She was all dressed up for work today, despite the fact that she was leaving work early. I think she wanted to feel extra beautiful today after seeing our babies and having that session with her new therapist.

"Mrs. Grey, your phone is ready to go," interjects Patterson, who had been busily assembling Anastasia's phone.

"Thank you, Melissa. One thing, though. Call me Ana," Anastasia says, then adds, "I've told _everyone_ that's what I _prefer_ to be called, yet somehow something keeps getting lost in translation." Her eyes narrowed at me as I fought the instinct to squirm in response.

As soon as Anastasia takes possession of the phone, the fucker rings!

"Kate? What's wrong," she asked. I hear Kate's voice, somewhat muffled. I was just close enough to hear her side of the conversation.

" _Ana! Jose's been arrested! He just called me collect from the police station. Do you think you and Money Bags could go down to the station and get him released?"_

"I'm sorry, Kate. We're not going to be able to do that." You're damned right, we won't. Fucker must have wheelbarrow-sized cajones if he actually reached out to fifty percent of the people he screwed over.

" _Why? Why would you let our friend sit in jail when you could get him out? What kind of friend are you,"_ accusingly questioned Katherine.

"Kate, why the hell would I bail out the bastard who assaulted and tried to rape me last night?"

" _He what?! He said he got arrested for being caught in a bar brawl!"_

"Well, we _were_ outside of a bar, after he tried to push drinks on me and I refused, he told me that Christian was too controlling and proceeded to assault me."

" _That bastard! What are you going to tell Ray?"_

"I'm going to tell him the truth; that the son of his best friend attacked and tried to rape me. It wouldn't be like it was the first time. So, obviously I won't be trying to bail him out. Personally, I hope a giant hairy dude named Butch is making him his bitch right now. A girl can dream, right?"

" _He really fucked with the wrong person, didn't he?"_

"You could say that, but better men than him have tried, with mixed results. Can you believe I was rescued by my gynecologist?"

" _Wow, looks like she really came through to save the cooch,"_ she said ironically _._

"That's as disgusting as it is accurate, Katherine," Anastasia replied with a grimace.

" _So what happens now? Have you pressed charges?"_

"Yes, I did that right away. I went to the police station that night and filed a report. You have no idea what that asshole has done to _both_ of us Kate. I'm almost afraid to tell you."

" _He did something to you and Money Bags?" Kate asked._

"NO! Kate, he had bugged our apartments in UW and Pike Place! He had real-time cameras recording at the new apartment!"

" _What the fuck?! That smarmy bastard was recording us?"_

"It gets worse, Kate. Jose had keys to both of our apartments," Ana is clearly stressed, rubbing the crease between her eyebrows. "And he had a two-wall shrine made up of pictures of me."

And there is silence on the other line. This is what it took to shut her up?

 _Kate finally speaks again, "Ana, how are you going to tell Ray that he insisted that we hang around your stalker?"_ THE FUCK! _That's_ why she tolerated his bullshit? Parental pressure from the _one_ parent she respected? No wonder I could never convince her to kick him out of her life. He had apparently been vetted by a person who Anastasia considered an unimpeachable character witness

"He's going to feel really guilty, but I have no choice. Ray and Jose Senior knew I didn't like Jose as anything other than a friend. He was more of a brother than anything."

" _I don't know about you, Ana. All I remember is him being an obnoxious kid on campus with a camera, but once Ray came for a visit and ran into Jose Senior, he was a fucking barnacle. I knew he liked you!"_

"Well, I didn't. He never asked me out or anything. He even admitted that he knew I wouldn't go with him if I thought it was a date of any kind. I didn't want to date anyone. You both knew that. Besides, I couldn't afford to get my heart broken; I wouldn't have been able to miss work to lounge around in your fuzzy pajamas eating a carton of ice cream," she chuckled lightly.

" _Ana, you sound strange. Is something wrong,"_ she asked anxiously.

"Nothing that beating it over the head with a hammer won't fix," she said darkly, focusing a laser glare at me, and eyeing every member of my team except the redheaded menace. She was never going to forgive me. Is she planning to leave me? "Kate, you don't have to worry about the apartment. Christian sent someone out to take out the surveillance equipment and change the locks. Someone will be bringing you your set after work, won't they Christian?"

As she again sends a piercing glare my way, I have no choice but to call out, "Yes, that's right."

" _Go, Ana! Having a little afternoon delight with the hubby?"_

"No, there was nothing at all delightful about this afternoon. I'm quitting my job," Anastasia said, surprising the hell out of me.

" _It's gotten_ that _bad,"_ Kate asks gently.

"Yes, I was informed in the bathroom that I probably only got the job because I have legs up to my armpits and am having sex with the owner. Nothing but good times to be had all around."

" _Someone actually said that shit to your face? Do they not relish job security?"_

"No, I was in a stall and three women decided that the crapper was the best place to rag on me."

" _Do you know their names?"_

"Yes, but it doesn't matter. I give up. Having a 4.0 GPA doesn't matter when you're married to the boss. Even if he's your _boss's boss's_ boss. It's a shitty work environment anyway and I don't need the aggravation. I left work at lunchtime and was so glad to be out of there."

" _So what are you doing with Money Bags?"_

"You know. The usual. He kidnapped me from work and took me to the Fairmont Olympic."

" _So I_ am _interrupting?"_

"Nope. Just taking time out of our busy days to reconnect. We were actually just talking before you called, but who knows?"

" _I get it. Thanks for having the locks changed so quickly. I'd have hated to gone home and not been able to get in. Talk to you later. Call me after you talk to Ray."_

"Sure," Ana replied, disconnecting the call. "So apparently Jose is trying to get out of jail. Is your security handling that?"

"No, the lawyers are taking care of that. They're trying to persuade the judge not to set bail."

"Good… You know, it's bad enough that you people kidnapped me today, but did you have to steal from me, too? I've accounted for every item except a pair of diamond earrings. I'd really like them back, if you all don't mind," she stated politely. I could tell she was seething. I was pissed, too. I pay my employees very well, more than well enough to keep their grubby hands out of the till.

"Where are the fucking earrings," I demanded. No-one said anything.

"I know that you don't respect me or my opinion much, Christian, but why don't we have Robbie empty his pockets?"

Roberts was staring daggers at my wife. But he wasn't emptying his fucking pockets. In fact, the fucker was inching towards the door. Garza stepped it. "Roberts, we're not accusing you of theft, but why not just empty your pockets so we can put this matter to rest?"

"No, I'm not emptying anything," he shouted. Taylor snatched the fucker by the scruff of his neck and had him prostrate against the conference table. Garza took over, while Taylor searched his pockets. After about twenty seconds, a pair of diamond drop-earrings were discovered in his left cargo pocket.

"I'll take those, thank you very much," said Ana, sneering at him. "See, he had your second chance in his pocket all along. What if he had decided to steal more? What if he was _really_ greedy and decided to steal _me_?"

That question electrified the room. At that moment, I realized not only was this whole cockamamie plan completely irredeemable. Not only was it a violation of Anastasia, but its execution was _never_ within my control. And once again, I had failed to protect her; Moreover, I had refused to take care of her as I had promised. Why should she forgive me? Could I ever forgive myself?

She's furious right now, but when the adrenaline recedes, will she crash from the stress? It's happened to me, but I've never been pregnant. Could this plot have led to injury or death for Anastasia and our babies? I would no longer fool myself; this travesty could have resulted in tragedy. For all I know, it still could. Maybe I should make an appointment with Dr. Greene. No, Anastasia should make the appointment. Just this morning, the good doctor seemed almost pleased with me. This afternoon, she might want to roast my chestnuts on an open fire, with the rest of me still attached.

I'm surprised Anastasia hasn't yet left the suite. She seems to be waiting for something, but the only call made or received came from Katherine, and Ana hasn't made or received any texts. She looks me dead in the eye and I suddenly realize something.

"Lady and gentlemen, I need the room." Soon, footsteps recede except Patterson's, but she only exits the room at a reassuring nod from Ana. Was this all it took for her to accept security? Selecting her own CPO? In less than three hours, Ana and Patterson already seem to have an easy rapport. Anastasia, with her innocent view of the world, shows me the fool that I am. Patterson was a hard woman, but somehow Ana likes her. She shows a strong core of integrity; Ana seems attracted to those who possess strong personalities. I've always wondered why Ana could tolerate Kavanagh, but I imagine many wonder how Anastasia tolerates me.

"Ana, they're all gone. What do you need to say to me?" I'm prepared for her to leave me. I expect for her to return her wedding rings. I want her to scream or yell, maybe even cry; Instead, she looks at me carefully, as if she's weighing my soul. I wonder if I'm passing the silent test being administered behind those penetrating eyes. Finally, she says something that threatens to cause my carefully constructed world to implode.

"Are you sure that you love me, Christian?"

"I love you, I've never loved anyone like I love you."

Then she recites something that sounds like a poem, and I'm shattered all over again.

 _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away._

"You look confused, Christian. It's from the New Testament. I wonder if you love me, or if you just love the idea of me. What's been happening in our relationship isn't patience or kindness. It's been an endless round of fighting to protect my sense of self when I know that I am right and you are wrong. And trust me, I don't delight in your wrongdoings because they're usually directed at me. I can't win with you. I'm barely treading water.

" _Why_ would I ever feel comfortable with the people you've chosen to protect me if, with only a word from you, they fuck me over? I've never seen so many dishonorable people in one room in my life that weren't in court or in prison. Is it OK that they could've hurt me? Is it OK that that I was afraid that those people would kill me? What would you have done if I had a stroke while in their custody? Would you have covered it up like you covered up Leila holding me at gunpoint? Is getting your way so important that you've forgotten that I'm a person?

" _How_ can you stand there and say you love me, when you don't even know what love _means_?"

"I'm so-," I began, but she swiftly cut me off.

"I know you're sorry. You're always sorry. But you just keep fucking up! Are you doing this shit on purpose? To test my love for you or something? I love you. I love you more than anything! But please stop making the mistake of believing that my forgiveness is unlimited. I've turned every cheek I have and my well of forgiveness is drying up."

"I won't do anything like this again, I promise you. I swear on my life; I will never try to hurt you or scare you like this again. What can I do to make this right?"

"I'm not sure. Right now, it's taking everything in me not to run for the hills, cursing your name to the heavens as I go. The only thing keeping me in this room right now is that Raymond Steele didn't raise me to be a quitter. I realized you were rushing me into marriage, and I let you. You've gotten your way in almost everything, but even I can't be the human sacrifice for you beat into the ground because you were hurt as a child. It's not fair. It's not right and I won't accept it."

"I was scared that something terrible was going to happen to you!"

" _You_ were the terrible thing that happened to me today."

"I was wrong. I take full responsibility for everything that happened today."

"Taylor should take some of it. He has a daughter. How would he like Sophie to be pulled into a van, gagged, blindfolded and bound and taken off to places unknown? You know what, don't answer that. The fact is Taylor is your man through and through and that just doesn't leave any room for loyalty to me. I'm going to need my own Taylor. I think Patterson is the one."

"Why her? What's so special about her? She helped kidnap you!"

"Perhaps because she seemed real. She knew what they did was wrong, and wasn't afraid to say it, even if it got her fired or blackballed. Or injured, based on the attitude of that asshole Robbie the robber. Besides, I feel it."

"Feel what?"

"Just like I knew I was right about you. You are an asshole."

I laughed, "You married this asshole."

"Yeah, I'm allowed one lapse per decade. You've already used a century's quota, so don't get any more fucking bright ideas."

"How can I _begin_ to make this right? I'm not asking for a clean slate. I know I've fucked things up beyond any hope of easy repair, but I'll do anything you ask to just begin."

"Anything? Are you sure about that? Because if I ask you for something I consider reasonable and you balk, I be more pissed than I am now. I just thought I'd put that out there in the spirit of transparency."

"Carte blanche. Anything you want. _Whatever_ you want. _Whatever_ you need. I promise."

"Remember when you said that you wouldn't be able to handle it if I had a past with other men?"

"Yes, I remember."

"How would you feel if we moved into a home where I had slept with fifteen different men? Would you feel comfortable? Would you question your virility? Would you compare yourself to them, even if I told you I never loved them? Would you feel safe if all fifteen men had once had keys to my place?"

"You're talking about Escala."

"Yes."

"You want me to get rid of Escala?"

"Are you balking?"

"No, I'm just surprised that you're using your carte blanche to get rid of it."

"I'm sorry, but getting rid of Escala is just the tip of a Titanic-size iceberg. Even if I could get over the subs you had there, I could never get over Elena, Leila and Jack just showing up. The bottom line is that I'm not comfortable there nor do I feel safe."

"Then it's gone. If that's something you need, it's gone."

"It is. I'd also like to select a new apartment, condo or loft somewhere else in case we'd like to spend time in the city. Escala isn't child-friendly."

"So, I'll do some checking with the real-," I said.

"That's not what I said. I said _I_ would like to select a place for us to live. You already picked the house on the Sound. You just wanted my approval."

"OK. I can agree to that, too. This is the most open you've been with me in a long time."

"It's difficult to be open when you're being marched over."

"You're still angry with me."

"Yes, I can love you and be angry with you at the same time. Those states are not mutually exclusive. I'm trying to stay calm because I've been cramping for a while," she said as her face fell out of its mask of calm, revealing a grimace.

"Is it the babies?" I asked, panicked.

"No, it's my neck, arms and legs. I spent over an hour handcuffed and gagged. Those areas just really hurt now," she admitted.

I told them they could be rough, if they didn't hurt her. I'm such a dumbass. Of course they were going to hurt her. Thank God she didn't struggle!

"I'm so sorry baby. Do you need anything?"

"Some water would be nice."

I walk over to the mini-fridge and grab two chilled waters, and give her one. She opened it, and drank deeply. I wonder where we'll be going after this. Will she return home with me? Does she want to?

APoV

I find myself still filled with righteous fury. This act was so demeaning, so demoralizing, so dehumanizing. I know that he's sorry. I can see it in his eyes, and his carriage. I know at this point he will do all I ask. However, I find that I cannot abuse him the way he has abused me. And there's no doubt that this _was_ abuse. There was nothing safe, sane or consensual about this situation. Idly, I wonder exactly how far past the edge of reason did Elena drag Christian for him to believe, for even one moment, this shit would fly.

I carefully consider whether or not I ever want to set foot in Escala again. Would I continue to see a multitude of ghosts wandering through the Red Room of Pain, or imagine Leila standing at the foot of our bed? Could I ever really enjoy eating breakfast at the kitchen counter where Elena ever so casually kicked me out of the room?

I'm quite sure I would never feel comfortable at Kate's apartment again. Christian helped Leila diminish whatever security I had felt there. Jose simply helped compound the injury. We never really discussed it; Christian told me he sent her to a mental facility, then she was at art school, also on his dime. Yet, I'm still left with nightmares about the possibility of her blowing my head off while she doodles her psychosis away in art therapy. I decided to ask him about his Sub Club while I seemingly have his full attention.

"Christian, I need you to be very truthful right now. No changing the subject, filtering, deflection or omission." He looks up, his keen gaze focused on me. Perhaps he realizes that this the topic is the main dish while the other demands were mere appetizers, because he straightens his shoulders, preparing for the weight of my demands.

"Where are Elena, Leila and Susannah," I ask, finally.

"Well, Elena is at Esclava, apparently trying to figure out creative ways to steal from me. She had started using some of the older lines of credit I extended to her when Esclava originally began operations. While you were here, I was making sure to close all lines of credit. I no longer have shares in her business, nor am I supporting her in any way. Leila and Susannah, and the rest of the subs have been approached by my attorneys to honor their NDAs and cease-and-desist any form of communication with us. I'm in the process of cutting Leila off. I was paying for her therapy, but her showing up at your place of work was basically the last straw. Taylor helped me see how manipulative she was being. He had another therapist examine her, and this therapist said that Leila isn't mentally ill at all, she's just rather good at faking it."

"And Susannah?"

"Susannah lost her car and apartment."

"Is that it? So, they're all gone?"

"They are all gone."

"And if they come back?"

"Not my responsibility."

"Was Flynn aware of what you did today?"

"No, this was all on me. He had nothing to do with this."

"Well, I guess that's one point in his favor, although his ethics still leave much to be desired."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"Not particularly."

"Why don't you like him?"

"I think of a therapist like a parent. When it comes right down to it, a parent can't be a child's best friend and still effectively parent. He's been your friend far too long to be effective. At this point, you're just paying him to shoot the breeze. I realize that you have more than a few pennies to rub together, but I still hate to see money wasted if you're not getting better."

"What else do you want to know?"

"I need to know everything that worried you so much that you would do something like this to me. I can't see you waking up thinking, 'I wonder what I can do to terrorize Anastasia today' so what gives?"

"Remember when I told you that SIPs servers were monitored and to use your Blackberry," he asked.

"Yes," I grudgingly admitted.

"Well, SIP's servers were monitored, like many other businesses. Like GEH servers are monitored. When GEH purchased SIP, our protocols overrode theirs. The e-mails coming to you; the mail and packages sent to you. They were awful. I don't want you to think only your things were monitored. _All_ packages are checked. Period. No matter who they are routed to. Letters are a different story. There's usually no way to monitor them all. The reason why yours got checked was because of the extremely high volume of letters addressed directly to you. If anyone else at GEH or GP was getting as much mail, theirs would have been checked over, too. The e-mail server has a constant filter, also for _everyone's_ mail. It constantly looks for certain flagged words, looks at certain word frequencies or specific combinations of words. It also checks for high-density graphics which are usually porn. All of which were flagged with many of your e-mails. Perhaps you didn't notice it at first because it was clear Hyde had been reading, re-routing and deleting your e-mails, too.

"You were receiving threats by the _hundreds_ …in one week, just because your picture was in the paper. Because you were standing next to me and I called you a friend. Once it was discovered who you were to me, the nutjobs, whackos and criminals started profiling you. One guy, Mark Davis-," he began.

"From Clayton's?" I interjected.

"Yes, your previous co-worker was sending threatening letters and to prove he was serious, he had also included your UW address…"

"That creep!"

"I worried that you wouldn't be able to do your job if you had all that shit in your head, so I had Barney take care of it. He only forwarded me reports of the worst of the worst he had compiled each week. If it was really bad, he would forward it immediately. Despite what you think, I'm not sitting in my office reading all of your correspondence," he stated.

"When you don't tell me what's going on, I only have my instincts and imagination to rely on."

"I have no vested interest in holding you back from making a success of your life, Anastasia. That's why I want to give you GP. I thought having security to worry about threats would give you one less thing to worry about."

"I'd take worrying for myself over worrying that you're hiding things from me."

"Be careful what you ask for. You haven't seen this shit. And wait until you see Jose's shrine."

"You kept it?"

"Yes, as much as I may dream about wrapping Rodriguez in it like a burrito and setting it on fire, I always intended for you to see it, so that you could at least identify the locations and times the photos may have been taken…Ana, are you coming home with me tonight?"

"Yes," I replied.

"But you're angry with me," he said, troubled.

"Yes," I said again. "Perhaps I'll teach you the true meaning of being in the doghouse. You're going to be really pissed you chose that white sectional for form over fashion."

"What about Sawyer," he asked.

"He helped you. He left me. I don't know if I could ever trust him again. I never really trusted any of them much to begin with, but he and Prescott seemed like tattletales. I had no room to move or breathe and you knew absolutely everything about my day. I felt suffocated. If he comes back, he'll have to be informed there's a new sheriff in town. I need people around me I can trust."

"Do you consider me your enemy, Ana?"

"I think I was really emotional when I included you in that lot, but this isn't how a person shows their love. You have to know this."

"Do you still want to be with me?"

"Yes, but don't be surprised if I'm not the most pleasant person to be around for a while. It's very important that you not confuse my returning home with you as forgiveness or acceptance of what you have done. And just wait until next week, if I don't book an emergency session with Dr. Weiss in the meantime."

The idea of the good doctor dragging him over hot coals was momentarily pleasing, but I have to figure out a way to deal with this crazy man who is apparently outrageously obsessed and fascinated with me. All fifty shades of him. Would it be wrong to suggest he replace Flynn?

"Can I hold you," he asks in a whisper.

I yield and walk towards him, allowing him to make physical contact with me for the first time since this shit played out. I love him. He's my little lost boy, but he had better grow the fuck up very soon, because just like Ray didn't raise a quitter, he also didn't raise a fool.

E/N: Bible reference regarding the characteristics of love. I Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV)

I found out something interesting: The one phone call thing is hooey. After a person has been arrested and has been processed (through the jail's intake procedure), an inmate can usually make as many 'collect' calls as they like.

Next post: Mia is in jeopardy.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	9. Chapter 9

I would like to give thanks to my beta, Sherryola from FF.

A/N: Ana's on a mission; Mia is in jeopardy.

 **Chapter 9: Gravity**

 _Something always brings me back to you  
It never takes too long  
No matter what I say or do  
I'll still feel you here 'till the moment I'm gone_

 _You hold me without touch  
You keep me without chains  
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love  
And not feel your reign_

 _Set me free, leave me be  
I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity  
Here I am, and I stand  
So tall, just the way I'm supposed to be  
But you're on to me and all over me_

 _Oh, you loved me 'cause I'm fragile  
When I thought that I was strong  
But you touch me for a little while  
And all my fragile strength is gone_

 _Set me free, leave me be  
I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity  
Here I am, and I stand  
So tall, just the way I'm supposed to be  
But you're on to me and all over me_

 _I live here on my knees as I try to make you see  
That you're everything I think I need here on the ground  
But you're neither friend nor foe though I can't seem to let you go  
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down  
You're keeping me down, eh ooh  
You're on to me, on to me, and all over_

 _Something always brings me back to you  
It never takes too long_

 _-"Can I hold you?" he asks in a whisper.  
I yield and walk towards him, allowing him to make physical contact with me for the first time since this shit played out. I love him. He's my little lost boy, but he had better grow the fuck up very soon, because just like Ray didn't raise a quitter, he also didn't raise a fool._

APoV

As soon as we make it to Escala, I break immediately for the library. I'm not interested in talking to Christian anymore for the moment, and I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to any excuse Taylor's manufactured for subjecting me to this shit. He gives a very good show of keeping the lines between employer and employee clear, but when he and Christian begin strategizing, they become Leopold and Loeb.

I couldn't say that Taylor is out to get me, but it's apparent that he cannot see me as a person outside of the context of being with Christian. While he was quick to assure me that Christian was a good man, he didn't necessarily imply that Christian would be good _for_ me. This is important information to have whilst planning our living arrangements. Furthermore, if he and Gail are a couple, then I'm going to have to treat them as a unit.

I had tried to forget that Leila had opened up her veins in front of Gail and instead of knocking that crazy bitch out and having her arrested for trespassing, she instead administered first aid and took her to the hospital. If Gail is giving aid to the enemy, do I even _want_ her living under the same roof?

Since he's promised to sell Escala, I had better find somewhere else for us to live soon. Christian purchased both of Escala's penthouse apartments with sole roof access and combined them. This apartment has three bedrooms counting the Red Room of Pain, and Taylor and Gail live in the other apartment, which I also believe has three bedrooms. He's built his entire adult life here, but I can't imagine putting my children down for a nap in the sub-room, no matter how many coats of paint we slap on the walls. I have yet to build up the nerve to tour the apartment using a blacklight. Besides, I don't want to have to try to hide an entire room that shares the same floor with a pair of inquisitive toddlers.

I wonder if Christian understands that his history in this place affects my esteem. He tells me he wouldn't be able to handle it if I had a past, but I live with his. His most fulfilling sex takes place in the same room, in the same bed where he had at least fifteen other women. How am I supposed to compete with that? It doesn't seem to occur to him that living where he had numerous subs would be off-putting. He used to have an array of kept women, and some of them he was still keeping. Although I feel that it's his money, I wanted him to stop spending money on all of them. Couldn't he understand it was disrespectful? He wanted the traditional vows but he wasn't willing to forsake all others. When given the opportunity, he forsakes me instead.

Leila admitted that she had broken the law by trespassing and Christian had saved her from being locked up in a prison psychiatric facility. Leila also informed me that she has seen us here together and realized how different he is with me. Now, I'm not that heavily into voyeurism, but she must have been here at least a handful of times to determine that. So what does that mean for me? He allowed her freedom at the expense of my peace of mind.

I open my laptop and begin my apartment search. The first residence I find is a loft that boasts a basement. Unfortunately, it lacks a view, is only three stories high and we'd literally be living in a glass house. I don't even think it's safe enough for our purposes. There are even taller buildings than Escala, with very beautifully appointed rooms, but they lack helipad access and my man loves the air and sky. There aren't many residential buildings with helipad access due to a crash that took place several years ago that made getting the permit to create one not only cost prohibitive, but virtually impossible to obtain. Only fourteen buildings in Seattle have helicopter access; one is a hospital.

I'm anxious to leave this place for many reasons. First, when I hear Escala, I associate it with Esclava, which leads me to Elena. Did she name her salon after the place Christian lived? Which came first? Second, this place has hosted more pussy than a cat lady and if these walls could talk, there would probably be a chorus of voices shouting that I'll never be able to meet Christian's needs on an endless loop. Third, I just don't feel safe here physically, mentally or emotionally. Too many people have had access to this place, even when I lived here. It's already frustrating enough to stay here when I'm already pissed off by practically every resident.

Exasperated, I begin searching for hotels with helipads. We don't need to have an apartment at all. With all its drawbacks, a helipad isn't enough to justify living in a place that contributes to my mental distress. When Christian told me just how many threats were coming my way, I found myself even angrier. Since I learned a dozen discarded subs that know my address have enough issues with Christian to form a support group, I've felt like a sitting duck. I'm living proof that he's willing to do "more" so that some want to see me up close and personal doesn't surprise me; I can only hope his lawyers are sufficient deterrent.

A couple fruitless hours later, a knock on the door disturbs my reverie, "Can I come in?" Christian asks.

"Sure," I replied, distracted.

"How's the search going," he inquired.

"It's going. I found some very nice places, but none of them have helipads," I said dejected. "I realize why you chose this place, I just wish I didn't hate it so much."

"After you explained why you don't like it here, I understand why you'd no longer feel comfortable. I'm just sorry to say that I cared so little about those women that it honestly never occurred to me."

"I briefly considered staying in a hotel with a helipad if we had to stay in the city."

"That could work unless we had to stay for several days. I don't like staying in hotels long-term unless I'm out of town on business. It becomes a safety issue, especially if the hotel is local. Staying so long at the Heathman was an anomaly," he said, looking at me steadily.

"So you stayed in Portland so you could stalk me," I said accusingly.

"You could say that," he said with a grin. "But I'd call it considering and evaluating an acquisition."

"Do many of your acquisitions become mergers," I teased.

"Only one," he replied, giving me a salacious grin.

"I had a thought," I said. "How's the view on Taylor and Gail's side of the apartment?"

"The view's actually pretty great, also. It's Escala's remaining penthouse after all."

"And you own it, too," I mused. If he owned the other penthouse, perhaps we _could_ remodel, situating our living quarters in the other half. Fuck Taylor and the horse he ran over me with. He and Gail would just have to relocate.

Several apartments just below were on the market, but I'm sure they'd be snapped up soon. Besides, Patterson would need a place to stay if she was going to be my main CPO. I know Sawyer didn't actually live here, which I could never quite understand. They expected him to be available to follow me at all hours, but did they even offer him a place to lay his head? The only gym was located on the main floor, so it was a long elevator ride away. How could they be so concerned about security if we have to share a gym with the other residents?

"Where do the CPOs stay?" I asked.

"They live in various locations nearby."

"So you don't provide them with apartments like Taylor?" I asked.

"I didn't actually provide Taylor with the apartment. He and Gail live there as a perk. Gail was the only live-in employee for some months, and she was assigned one bedroom and access to the apartment's living space," he said matter-of-factly. "The rooms are smaller than our apartment since it was configured into staff quarters. It's not nearly as spacious as this half."

"So how many bedrooms do they have over there?"

"Five; Gail's bedroom, Taylor's bedroom, a bunk area where the other CPOs can catch some shut-eye or have down-time, one bedroom converted into a gym, a guest room that my goddaughter Sophie uses-" he enumerates.

"Wait. Taylor's daughter is your goddaughter?" I asked. He nods. Wow, for someone who claims we shouldn't be too familiar with our security, he has certainly gone the extra mile to cater to his staff's every need. This man is practically sponsoring an extended nuclear family right next door. No wonder Taylor was so quick to thoroughly screw me over. Christian has him totally by the short-and-curlies. By the time he finishes asking Taylor to jump, Taylor's probably airborne. My predicament is much worse than I imagined. This makes having independent security even more vital.

"Christian, Leila told me she gave you a couple paintings. Where are they?"

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He wasn't answering quickly enough. "Let me help you. Are any in this apartment?"

"Yes, both are in the apartment," he admitted. Great, just great! Will I never get rid of this bitch? And where are those fucking paintings? If they're in this apartment, I want them out today!

"Would you show them to me?" I asked.

"Why do you want to see them? I know you already hate them, sight unseen," he said gently.

"And, you would be right. Do you really think it's fair that I have to be reminded of the crazy bitch who stalked me and held me at gunpoint every time I look at a wall? For all I know, you might've been planning to move them to the house."

"No, you shouldn't have to. Ana, is this really about a couple pictures that were forgotten nearly as soon as I had them hung years ago? Or are you just generally dissatisfied?"

"It's actually a bit of everything. You finally reveal how much danger I'm in, but only after scaring me half to death. Why would I believe you about security risks when you never tell me anything until it's practically in my face or you ensure that one of the most viable threats to my safety will never spend a day in jail? Does it matter to you that I haven't felt safe after that day in Kate's apartment? I try to put it out of my mind, but I can't.

"Do you think I don't know how wealthy you are? It's just difficult to accept security when it seems that most of their job entails reporting to you everything that I do. I manage to survive the day without someone informing me about your day. I like it better when you tell me yourself."

"I don't like talking about myself and most of the work I do is boring. A good seventy-five percent of my job is cat-herding. I'm surrounded by geniuses and visionaries who I have to organize, coordinate and prod to get anything done. A good ten percent of my work is meeting with people who want to hear themselves talk. If my timing is right and my team prepares the right proposal, I may save a failing company or keep people in jobs they would have lost just because they were unfortunate to work for greedy, shortsighted idiots. But you know my real loves have always been building things that can be used to navigate the sky or water. You know that I want to feed the poor and provide sustainable energy to third-world nations. You know more about me than anyone else, and most you learned the first day."

"If that's how you feel, why do you want to know the minutiae of my day? Do you actually need to know how much thought I put into using staples, paperclips or binder clips? Do you have a deep interest in the people who submit manuscripts, many of which will never be read? I have a degree in literature, so I know how difficult it is to pour your time and heart onto paper, sending it off to parts unknown for people to judge and attempt to understand it. You want me to run Grey Publishing, but the more I move up in the company, the more travel and face-to-face meetings are required. I'm dealing with artists, who may not feel comfortable in a room with a sentry standing by."

"I need you to be safe, Anastasia," he stated solemnly.

"Can't you keep me safe without making me feel like a prisoner? GEH isn't like that. All I needed to do to see you was stop at the receptionist's desk and take a ride on the elevator to the top floor!"

He started laughing, very hard. At me. A belly-laugh like I had just tickled him or something. Had I transformed into a comedienne without knowing? Where was the joke? I explained that Kate was sick and the receptionist sent me on up.

"Anastasia, do you really think it's that easy to see me?"

"Well, I know it took months for Kate to get an interview with you-," I said.

He interrupted, "How many people did you see walking around in the building?"

I tried, but I couldn't remember anyone off the street walking around. Most of the people were carrying files or wearing some form of ID badge. I finally replied, "I didn't see anyone. It was just me at the desk."

"GEH is one of the most secure buildings in Seattle, Anastasia. The only person who hasn't ever been fully vetted before being allowed on the elevator in years is you."

"How could that be? Don't people just walk in off the street?"

"Sure they do, but if they don't work there or have an appointment, they are quickly directed elsewhere. The ground floor has many security officers, but they are not dressed as guards. They dress in business apparel to fit in. On top of that, GEH doesn't give tours, allow job-shadowing or support bring your child to work days. If someone wants to know what a day in the life at GEH entails, one needs to apply for an internship."

"If you have so much security and protocol keeps strangers out, how did I get to see you when Kate got sick?"

"When you entered the building and went to the receptionist's desk, the first thing they did was attempt to identify you. When your face and name did not match Katherine's, you were to be immediately sent away. Taylor gave you the OK because he recognized you and your story checked out."

"My story checked out?"

"Yes, audio and video from reception are piped to the security center, so Taylor heard you explain that Kavanagh was very ill, you were her roommate and would be standing in. You had been identified from Katherine's background check."

No wonder he thought SIP's security was abysmal; He's operating out of a fancy modern-day Fort Knox. How could I not have noticed? It was very polished and modern, inside and out. All aspects were streamlined, including the people. Grey Publishing still doesn't have that kind of order. It's intimate and homey, featuring numerous informal sitting areas peppered with nooks and crannies like a reading room. Our building layout alone must have horrified my security with its numerous blind spots, twists and turns. Knowing Christian like I do, I'm surprised he hasn't attempted to relocate GP.

"So when we had the interview, you knew I wasn't Kate the whole time?"

"Yep. There's no way Andrea would have let me be surprised, not if she wanted to keep her job."

"Wow! Is there anything about me you don't know?"

"I don't know if you'll be eating dinner with me or sharing the same bed tonight."

"Please don't try to make me feel guilty for being angry. I decided to come back to the apartment, I have to eat dinner anyway, and the only place you haven't fucked anyone else is in our bedroom, so I think you're three for three."

Christian looked taken aback. I don't think he expected me to go there, but this isn't a problem he could fuck away and if he tries to drag me into his Red Room of Pain there would be screams, but not of pleasure. He's seen me happy, hurt, exasperated and sad; never has he seen me as infuriated and righteously indignant as I am now. I don't think he has any experience with a woman who could be angry with him that he couldn't command to suck it and him up.

Well I told him that I wouldn't be pleasant company. Part of me wonders if he agreed to sell Escala so quickly because he already knew that there wouldn't be any acceptable alternatives. Perhaps he thought I would just give up and live in his whorehouse indefinitely. I've wanted Escala gone since we began an established relationship, but it was his place. It was part of the reason I didn't want to live here. I remember being horrified when he showed me the sub-room, thinking he wanted me to be his secret live-in sex-slave. Each wall tells a story and, no matter how many times he tells me he loves me, I still feel like number sixteen at Escala.

Over a very quiet dinner, I considered ways not to damage my marriage over our current address. Since it was clear finding a new apartment was a bust unless some housing development company produces a residential high-rise that outstripped Escala within the next couple months, I began thinking of ways to salvage this place that didn't entail of giving it a baptism of fire, dousing every surface with holy water or bringing someone up to perform an exorcism.

Christian said that the staff quarters had been reconfigured; I wonder if he would be open to yet another full remodeling of this place. "Christian," I say breaking the silence. "Could we remodel the apartment?"

"I wouldn't have a problem with remodeling," he said, brightening. He does love to problem-solve.

"What do you think of fully combining the two penthouse apartments, turning our half to entertainment, exercise and guest space and moving our living quarters to the staff quarters?"

"Where would Taylor and Gail live?"

"I was thinking that we could buy the two or three apartments directly below us for staff and security. This many units won't be for sale for long. That way I can have the privacy I'd like and you could keep your helipad. It would also be really nice to have a garden on the terrace."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," he mused.

"Not really, I'm just completely exhausted from searching for alternatives when it's clear that nothing comes close to what we require."

"If that's what you want, it'll be done. Perhaps I should make the arrangements to purchase the units, though, now that you've found us another place. I can also call Elliot to determine what would be necessary to implement the changes we want made."

"We want made?"

"Yes, 'we'. I'm glad you were able to settle on a satisfactory substitute so quickly. I want you to be happy wherever we live. I could still sacrifice the helipad."

"No, I think it's still a necessary amenity. Could you ask Taylor for Patterson's contact info?"

"Sure, but we have to talk about Sawyer. Are you firing him?"

"Don't fire him; I just don't want him as my primary CPO. That's why I'd like you to purchase the three apartments below us. One for Taylor, Gail and company. The other for Melissa and whoever else will be part of my team. The third could be the security office and gym."

"Alright, I'll get that number for you," he said, his dinner finished. He rose, kissed me on the forehead and departed to his office, most likely to contact Taylor.

CPoV

And with that, I was dismissed. Taylor won't be happy to hear about Sawyer's demotion. While the buck stops with me, everyone will receive a share of the fallout. Anastasia hasn't been unreasonable, displaying much less rage than I would in her position. She's very forgiving but has a very finely honed sense of justice.

Since she couldn't find a place somewhere else fitting her criteria, she is all too willing to move Taylor as far away as possible within reason. In her own rather crafty manner, she has effectively demoted Taylor, and adding insult to injury, has literally, figuratively and functionally placed him at the same level as her own employee. She has penalized both Taylor and Sawyer with loss of respect and prestige, all without taking as much as a dollar out of their pockets. This is the best type of discipline: public, proportionate, certain, and swift. In less than a day, Anastasia Grey devised a way that everyone involved will know that if you trespass against her, pain will be the inevitable result.

She punished me with the loss of her attention, making a bee-line to her library cum study as soon as we departed the elevator. She didn't tell me that I was uninvited or unwelcome, but I knew. When she stayed within with the door closed for two hours, I had to see her, even if it brought on her anger. And she was displeased.

And frustrated. I could have told her how competitive and select the upscale luxury real estate market was. I waited several years longer than it took to get an appointment with me to get the land on the Sound. I didn't even care about the house on it; I could demolish and build from scratch. I was even willing to pay for it in full, above the full asking price. However, if you were looking for the best luxury high-rise with the best views and a helipad…Well, unfortunately Escala is it.

But I know she hated Escala, and I knew why, so I refused to interfere. I would be willing to totally rehab and recondition this space, rendering it unrecognizable. I regret ever wasting Escala on any of the ungrateful bitches who plagued my life after I met Anastasia. I totally forgot the rule of shitting where I ate because I never envisioned I would be willing, let alone desire, to share my life with a special woman. I couldn't imagine Anastasia ever seeing this as a family home and she hasn't even started nesting.

I called Taylor in and gave him the lay of the land. He stoically hid the disappointment that I knew he felt and gave me Patterson's contact info and file. She was much better qualified than Sawyer, and Anastasia already liked her. I get the impression that Ana won't ever be trying to make friends with her security since her last attempt blew up in her face.

Ana had asked about Leila's portraits. They were good, but not good enough to justify keeping them in a home I share with Ana or any other place I own. Besides, Leila defaced Ana's car; Ana wouldn't be above destroying her works in kind. I think I had them hung in the hall by the sub-room. They weren't my taste, but they were well done. Should've guessed Leila would use an opportunity in Ana's presence to turn the screw. I'll have Gail arrange to have them taken down and dispensed with.

Ana's phone rings again and this time it's Mia. She heard from Kate that Ana would be taking a leave of absence from her job. Ana talks a few minutes and agrees to work out with her tomorrow. I'm going to have to warn her what a 'workout' with my little sister entails.

"Anastasia, working out with Mia consists of dressing in exercise wear, riding a stationary bike for a few minutes, socializing and shopping the rest of the afternoon. Make sure you take your Black card," I advised, amused. "It'll be the only thing getting a workout."

"Don't I need to have a membership or something?" she asked.

"The Greys have a family membership. You're in. Take security. Here's Patterson's number."

She makes the call to arrange security, giving her the time and place. She even laughs a couple times, hanging up a few minutes later.

"Melissa's so droll. She told me she's giving me a crash course in security tomorrow. Tomorrow's lesson: how and when to get out of the car, waiting for security to secure the perimeter and letting security precede me. Oh, if I pass she'll take me out for ice cream. There goes my workout," she exclaims. "Oh and she said we'd need another CPO, so Sawyer's on board, too."

The last was delivered with a small grimace. Our 'operation' did real damage. She needs to trust the people around her, and half of her team is in on probation.

It's time for bed and Anastasia gives me her hand and guides me to our bedroom. I'm surprised. I guess I imagined she would be tearful or belligerent. I never expected the normalcy of being a young lusty couple on the way to bed, but I guess I forgot about this morning when Anastasia practically rode my dick off. I'm not going to pretend that having Ana take the lead isn't exciting, but I can't but believe that this is just the calm before the storm.

After showering together, we dressed for bed, not that our clothes stayed on for long. We made love for hours. We fell asleep soon afterwards. Anastasia lying across my chest, our legs entwined. I woke up to wetness on my neck. Ana had been weeping in her sleep. I was an asshole. I hold her tightly to me, running my fingers through her long luscious locks, attempting to lend her comfort. Soon, she relaxed and I fall asleep once more.

Waking up, I smell breakfast cooking. Ana is in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes. My wife is barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. But she's cooking. Isn't that Gail's job?

"Baby, you don't have to cook. Where's Gail?"

"She's back in the staff quarters," she says with a secretive smile. Ana doesn't even like for me to refer to their apartment as staff quarters. I'm beginning to think Ana may pissed at a few more people than just Taylor and Sawyer. It hasn't escaped my attention that she's decided to move the staff quarters downstairs, coopting the other apartment. But why would she be upset with Gail? What could Gail have done to make Ana angry? Generally, they get along well, even working together at times. But yesterday she was quite determined to locate all of her enemies, and Leila was one. However, Gail had helped Leila who later terrorized Ana. To Anastasia, that's treason. And Gail was with Taylor. Gail had lost Ana's trust, too.

There's a vast difference between the Anastasia of the previous months and the Ana of yesterday. Before, Ana seemed almost pathologically driven to forgive. Yesterday's Ana is kicking ass and taking names for a list of asses to kick later. And while some of her behavior could be attributed to pregnancy hormones and Jose's attack, I'm sure a great deal is due to yesterday's fuck-up. The ripple effects from these events have yet to dissipate.

Am I wrong to let everyone take their lumps with me? No, I'm not a hypocrite. We had it coming. Instead of hitting one of the numerous panic buttons located around the apartment, alerting security to a threat, Gail aided a person she knew had broken into my home. By the time security was informed, Leila was in the wind. Gail made the same mistake I did. She felt sorry for Leila and Leila took advantage of her sympathy. When it came to Leila, none of us followed protocol. I was foolish and vain enough to believe this could be handled without police intervention. I assumed that I knew her and what she was capable of. I was wrong on all counts, so if Anastasia has decided to give us something to talk about, so be it.

I can't help but recognize that Patterson was offering Anastasia the preparation we never did. We just heaved her into the deep end and gave her instructions piecemeal, expecting her to remain afloat. She'd have received a better orientation in security protocol as an intern. It didn't help that I was pulling her away from her only friends while telling her that she shouldn't be so friendly with the staff. My instructions consisted primarily of 'do as I say' with very little supporting discussion. No wonder Ana never liked to follow them. She doesn't have a submissive bone in her body.

Ana wasn't dressed for work. I vaguely remember her discomfort with her coworkers when she spoke to Katherine. She has no idea how much envy she generates among many women, and that's before factoring in her capture of Seattle's most eligible bachelor. Ana has never played on her looks. I had often wondered in the beginning if her self-deprecation was feigned like Leila's, but it was an integral component of her character. It didn't occur to me until I read her file that her plain dress and reflexive shyness was a shield she used to deter sexually threatening men.

"You're not dressed. Are you going in late?"

"Nope, I'm took a personal day to play hooky. I think my _boss's boss's_ boss would approve. I'm meeting your sister at eleven so it makes no sense to go in."

Ana's work ethic has been seriously diminished after overhearing those harpies in the bathroom. They're jealous of her and have obviously forgotten that she owns their asses. Well, _I_ own their asses _for now_ and Anastasia owns me, so it's the same thing. She doesn't seem too heavily invested in Grey Publishing; perhaps I can use this opportunity to find out what's so bad about the place now considering she used to work for Jack.

"Anastasia, yesterday I heard you telling Katherine you were quitting GP. Can you tell me why?"

"They _knew_ Christian. They all knew! They knew that Jack made all of his interns uncomfortable, that he was inappropriate with them. According to the ladies I heard yesterday, there was something going on between Jack and that bitch Elizabeth Morgan. _That's_ how he was able to hire intern after intern. She sat with him on the interview panels. You know what's so strange? She seemed so sad Jack left, yet she gave me his job when I hadn't even worked there two weeks. But that night in the breakroom, Jack told me she wanted someone with more qualifications when I was hired as an intern. That's why I thought you interfered. Perhaps you would have done better interviewing our current employees at GP than the interns who left."

"You're saying that management knew Jack was a sleaze and procured interns for him?"

"What else could there be? He obviously still has them all over a barrel, even now, fired and incarcerated. He did something to those interns and no-one's made nary a peep. No sexual harassment lawsuits, no complaints They just fade away."

"Hyde has something on them. Management. Interns. What would've happened to you if I hadn't bought SIP?"

"I would have been in the unemployment line. The bastard was going to fire me, remember? Go to work. I'll call you after my workout. One of us should remain gainfully employed," she said playfully, changing the subject.

Her defeatist attitude is almost enough to make me regret buying that money pit. Fucking SOBs should be grateful Anastasia applied there. They were circling the drain when I put in the stopper. But just as I giveth, I can take away. I pull her to me and kiss her like I'm going to war.

I'm going to get to the bottom of this, so I decide to stay at GEH instead of going to Portland. I give these fuckers money and the university tries to screw the farming division over again? I'll let Andrea break the news that I've decided to redirect future funding to institutions that don't have as much difficulty allocating disbursements to the proper accounts.

APoV

Melissa Patterson is prompt and dressed to workout, whereas Sawyer, trailing behind, is dressed in a suit. Does he enjoy sticking out? I understand security needs to look professional, but he's going to draw more attention to us. I'm in no mood to humor him today.

"Patterson, Sawyer."

"Ana, today we're meeting Mia at the health club. We already did a primary check of the location, areas of egress, and such. When we get there, I want you to wait for me in the SUV while I go in to make sure the area's still secure. Sawyer will wait with you and check license plates in the parking lot."

"That's not what usually happens."

"You're correct. That doesn't happen when you go to work, GEH, your in-laws' or home because Mr. Grey controls security at those locations. Whenever we cannot control the venue, we have to create emergency escape routes or figure out ways to shelter-in-place."

"Is that why security was so worried when I went to the Zig Zag Café?" I asked, concerned.

"Can I speak freely, ma'am?"

"I'm Ana. Please speak freely. I'm tired of being kept ignorant."

"Why would you go _there_? It's very difficult to secure. There's too much glass and too many doors. It's a security nightmare. Why didn't you just go to your husband's club? It's one of the hardest clubs in Seattle to get into and your names are at the top of the list," she said.

"Oh, my best friend wanted to try the new club on for size," I explained.

"Ma- Ana, does your friend not like you? The Zig Zag is nice looking, I'll give you that, but it's nowhere near the hottest or best clubs around. People go there for gossip. It's a journalist waterhole. You shouldn't go there unless you want your picture taken."

Why would Kate take me there? Doesn't she know that I hate all the attention? She most likely heard about it from work, but this definitely explains my CPOs discomfort. They should have said something to me instead of tattling to Taylor.

"I didn't know. Someone should have said," I replied miserably.

"Look, I'm your CPO, and you're an extremely high-profile client, so that means I don't only have to protect you physically, but I must also shield your image. That means I'm not going to let you walk around with your skirt tucked into your panties, lettuce between your teeth or drunk off your ass if I can help it," she said confidently. I _really_ like this woman. She shoots straight from the hip and speaks my language.

I sent a very hard look at Sawyer, who looks away. When he warned me, it was always about me making his job uncomfortable for him. He didn't tell me I was shooting myself in the foot. Asshole.

"Look, Ana. We're running late, Miss Grey's already there and I also want to check on her security team. There's chatter that they're slacking off, and I need to see it for myself to make a report."

"Doesn't Christian pay them a lot? Why would they slack off?" I ask.

"Everything isn't always about money, Mrs. Grey. Ms. Grey's detail spends most of its time waiting for her in the car. Unless they are careful to keep their minds engaged and alert, things slip through the cracks."

"So her security doesn't stay with her?"

"No, honestly she's worse than you, ma'am," she answers. "As soon as the suspect was apprehended, she begged her parents to relent on her security."

"And you don't like that?"

"I've never trusted the calm. That's when things go to shit," she said stoically. She's obviously military like the rest of them, but somehow I get the impression that she's seen and experienced worse. I can tell when she's uncomfortable because she's reverted to calling me ma'am twice.

"Let's go," I said. Patterson clearly has things to do when we get there. The ride is silent. Sawyer's quiet as a church mouse. Clearly, he's hoping to ride out my anger; good luck with that.

When we arrive, Sawyer parks in the center of the crowded parking lot. He pulls up a monitor and starts scanning the parking lot, but I don't know how he can be seeing so many plates from where we're parked, so I break the silence and ask, "How are you seeing all these plates?"

Sawyer answers, "Patterson came much earlier and place some cameras in various locations so we could get all the tags without looking suspicious."

"That's smart," I said.

"Sawyer, check out that rental over to your right," Patterson exclaims. "There's a man in the backseat and he's not getting out."

He pulls out his iPad, types a few keys, I guess checking the plates and cross-referencing with the rental company. Barney's a genius. I know he probably designed most of their tech. "SUV is rented to a woman named Elizabeth Morgan... Mrs. Grey, don't you work with an Elizabeth Morgan?"

"Yes I do, and that guy in the SUV? That's Jack Hyde!"

"Fuck! What's he doing out of jail?" Sawyer shouts. He's calling Taylor, I think. "T, you won't believe this, but Jack Hyde is at Mia's health club! Right now. We're here at the club. Mrs. Grey identified him."

Patterson interjects, "If that's Hyde, where's Ms. Morgan?"

Fuck my life. The bitch is in the club! Maybe Jack is planning to kidnap Mia like he tried to abduct me! There _was_ a woman pursuing Christian and I from Grey Manor. They've been in each other's pockets this whole time!

"Sawyer, Hyde and Morgan are working together. They're trying to abduct Mia right now! Patterson, they've both seen Sawyer before, but they don't know what you look like. Please go find Mia Grey."

"Yes, ma'am," she says, exiting the vehicle, carrying a rolled yoga mat and gym bag.

"Sawyer, where's Mia's security?"

"I don't see him Mrs. Grey. Wait. There," he says motioning towards a car pulling in to the lot. "Looks like he stopped at Starbucks."

"My husband's sister is in the process of being kidnapped while this fucker was out on a coffee run? He's fired! Fired! Do you hear me? When this is over, he is fired!"

I call Christian. I was sure Taylor told him what was going on, but he needed to hear this from me. "Baby, we're on our way. Thank you! Thank you for not going to work today!"

"Christian, Mia's security just pulled in from Starbucks."

"What the fuck?"

"I know Christian. He is so fired."

"Are you OK?" he asks, trying to calm himself.

"No, I'm not OK. Ms. Morgan is in on it. He's in the SUV, but she's in the gym. Patterson is inside looking for Mia."

"We've called the police; they're coming in silent, to apprehend Hyde. I just found out he was bailed out hours ago. My lawyers weren't informed until a few minutes ago."

"So he's been out all this time? Let me call Hannah. Elizabeth had back-to-back meetings today. I need to find out why she's here."

"No! It'll be better if we let the police question Hannah. We don't know yet that only Hyde and Morgan were involved."

"You're right. I panicked."

"We're around the corner from you."

"Thank God!"

Sawyer's phone rings. It's Patterson. "Sawyer, Morgan is down. Miss Grey is fine. She said that Morgan claimed that Mrs. Grey was in the hospital and she couldn't get in contact with anyone else. Miss Grey changed into her street clothes. Morgan was trying to subdue her as I came in the locker room."

"Christian, did you hear that? Mia's safe!"

"Yes, I heard," he said. I could hear the relief in his voice. "You guys did good. What about Hyde?"

"The monitor shows that Hyde's still in the SUV. I don't think he can see us where we're parked."

"Good. The police have entered the perimeter. Stay with Sawyer and stay safe."

"OK."

Suddenly, I hear shouting. I hear a gunshot and a window shattering. I look at the monitor. The police fire at the SUV. One officer opens the door, and drags Hyde out. He's still alive, cursing and crying. I think he was shot in the arm, because he's holding it against his body. The police still frisk him none too gently. He did shoot at cops after all. Dumbass.

He's cuffed and read his rights and thrust into the waiting police car. Patterson, flanked by Mia, shoves Elizabeth Morgan forward, with her hands zip-tied behind her back. Her mascara's running as she cries and shouts, calling for Jack. Two officers immediately take custody of her, and she's searched then placed into a separate police car. There'll be no more collusion between her and Jack. When the police cars leave the scene, Christian's SUV pulls into the lot and he gets out, running to me. When Mia approaches, she embraces both of us in turn, hugging me very tightly.

"Mia, are you alright?" Christian asks.

"That woman was going to kidnap me. No, I'm not alright," she snapped. Then her voiced softened. "But I will be. I was just trying to help. I feel so stupid. Ana's CPO saved me."

I threw an ironic look over her shoulder towards Christian and Patterson. "I know what it's like to want to help someone in need, but you can't save everyone."

Finally, Mia's security guy made his way over to us. We could almost smell him before we saw him. He was drunk on the job. Where does Christian find these people? No wonder Patterson wanted to check on Mia's security! This so fucked up!

Taylor orders the guard, Simpson, to go back to the car and wait. Mia, Christian and I pile into my SUV and Sawyer and Patterson take us to the police station for questioning. I'm sick of this place, especially knowing that Hyde and Morgan may be here.

I'm overjoyed when they inform us that Hyde's bail was revoked and whoever paid his bail will not be reimbursed. We all explain our parts in today's events, while the police take turns both thanking us and apologizing to us profusely. It doesn't look good that they released a man, only for him to attempt to commit a capital crime hours later.

Sawyer takes Mia home at her insistence, while Taylor and Patterson escort us to Escala. I have a lot to think about. Following protocol helped save Mia's life today. The only thing Morgan and Hyde have in common is me. Did they try to kidnap Mia to use her as bait to entrap me?

E/N: I think I may have confused a few readers. One of my failings is that when I know a thing, it's very difficult for me to remember that others may not. One of Taylor's specialties is exfiltration. Exfiltration is generally thought of as hostage rescue or personnel extraction, when in reality, there are two types: friendly and hostile. Hostile exfiltration is when the person being extracted does not want to go with the people taking him/her. We regular people call that abduction or kidnapping. The military utilizes such delightfully benign terms to describe very dangerous actions.

That's why Patterson referred to it as a routine snatch-and-grab. For her, it is, since this is also one of her specialties. Ana's responses were all wrong, since Patterson assumed Ana knew about security protocol. Hence, her response. The words Patterson used once they had Ana in the van was part report, part warning. She was pissed at the situation. The team had to take Ana, if only to get her off the street in the open since no-one was there to protect her. Just think, if Ana was able to knock out Patterson. She might have gotten away, only for someone else to take advantage of her vulnerability.

You may not see too many female CPOs although they are quite in demand for the protection of women and children. It's one of those things that is experiencing a decline in supply, whereas the demand continues to rise. Prescott would have been ideal if CG hadn't foisted her on Ana and tainted her perception of security by having them report to him. Ana felt spied on instead of protected.

 _ **Guests**_ : I understand you may not always be able to login, but please leave your name or username so I can respond to your reviews. I don't want to be stuck moderating truly _anonymous_ guest reviews. I have been approving them indiscriminately, but that will stop.

Next post: Christian discovers a link with Hyde, Ana gets another lesson in protocol. Christian learns the true meaning of sadism.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	10. Chapter 10

I would like to give thanks to my beta, Sherryola from FF.

A/N: Christian discovers a link with Hyde, Ana gets another lesson in protocol. Christian learns the true meaning of sadism. *** TRIGGER ALERT - An act of extreme violence and cruelty will be discussed after the fact during the investigation of Jack Hyde and Elizabeth Morgan. CONTENT WARNING: Viewer/Reader discretion is advised. The related content may be disturbing to some individuals as it contains allusions to extreme violence and grisly images. ***

 **Chapter 10: Corrupt**

 _I could corrupt you  
In a heartbeat  
You think you're so special  
Think you're so sweet_

 _What are you trying  
Don't even tempt me  
Soon you'll be crying  
And wishing you'd dreamt me_

 _You'll be calling out my name  
When you need someone to blame_

 _I could corrupt you  
It would be easy  
Watching you suffer  
Girl, it would please me_

 _But I wouldn't touch you  
With my little finger  
I know it would crush you  
My memory would linger_

 _You'd be crying out in pain  
Begging me to play my games_

 _I could corrupt you  
It would be ugly  
They could sedate you  
But what good would drugs be_

 _But I wouldn't touch you  
Put my hands on your hips  
It would be too much to  
Place my lips on your lips_

 _You'd be calling out my name  
Begging me to play my games_

 _-Sawyer takes Mia home at her insistence, while Taylor and Patterson escort us to Escala. I have a lot to think about. Following protocol helped save Mia's life today. The only thing Morgan and Hyde have in common is me. Did they try to kidnap Mia to use her as bait to entrap me?_

CPoV

Once upon a time a young woman brought joy, excitement and brilliance into my life, merely by falling into my office. I didn't know it yet, but she was to become the center of my universe. Today, she saved my beloved sister, the first person to give me an inkling that touch didn't always have to hurt, by missing work and helping foil Mia's abduction.

I've always been told that things happen for a reason, but usually it was said that after yet another fucked up thing had happened to me. I don't want to think that hurting Anastasia led directly to Mia being saved, but even allowing for a circuitous route, the correlation is clear. I'll be damned if I continue to allow serendipity to be solely responsible for our safety.

Since someone obviously dropped the ball, Mia's safety was placed in the hands of an alcoholic. What's worse is that GEH has a zero tolerance policy for alcohol and substance abuse, so how did this fucker slip through the cracks? This is a sign, the final fucking straw!

There's a strong chance that if Hyde and Morgan didn't try to kidnap my sister, she could have ended up in a car crash with a drunk driver at the wheel. Our CPOs also function as drivers, who may or may not be armed. Fuck random drug testing; all the people working within my sphere of influence will be tested as soon as possible. This shit is unacceptable.

Once again, Anastasia has shown up my security, helping to identify that fucker Hyde. Ana can be frightfully insightful and observant, which hardens my resolve to never lie to her about anything again, even by omission. She was so infuriated by their attempt; I know she feels personally responsible, yet I still have the niggling feeling this is related to me. If Hyde was trying to hurt Anastasia, he would have targeted Kavanagh. He'd taunted me from the beginning, letting me know how he had Ana under his control and that he was her boss.

Anastasia may be angry, but she's right; there's absolutely no way this is Hyde's first time at the rodeo. And Morgan's up to her eyeballs in this shit, too. They're both sitting in the can, saying nothing. They haven't even lawyered up. Ana thinks they may have had an affair in the past, but that can't be it. Fucking's not nearly enough incentive to kidnap a Grey.

Somehow, he has this bitch where she lives. The SUV was rented in her name, but the contents of the vehicle: chloroform, horse tranquilizer and duct tape, even the gun have Hyde written all over them. The last time I saw him in person, he had assaulted and attempted to rape Ana. Who escalates so quickly from attempted rape to espionage and kidnap, unless violence is his ordinary currency?

Who is Jack Hyde? His file is thin, but everything seems to be there. However, how much would a person really learn about me if they read _my_ file? They wouldn't see my years fucking Elena or my penchant for beating and fucking brown-haired girls who resemble my mother. So clearly such background reports aren't worth the paper they're printed on. Ana has clearly forgotten that the bastard sabotaged Charlie Tango and tried to incinerate GEH's server room.

Now that I know that Morgan most likely drove the car that chased Ana and I down on the highway, and pursued us to Escala, I realize their initial aims were harming or even killing us. Perhaps due to our around-the-clock security, such as it is, abducting Mia was just a ruse to draw us away. One other thought persists: Would I have known Hyde's intentions had Anastasia never applied to SIP?

I made a call to Roach to fire Elizabeth Morgan as soon as I entered my office. When he asked why, I felt like firing him, too. Media coverage of the attempted abduction has saturated all the news outlets. There was a special news alert on all the local stations both TV and radio. How the fucker could've avoided finding out what that bitch attempted is a mystery considering GP's thriving grapevine.

I have Barney and Welch on her e-mails, electronics and financials. I've also directed them to perform an even deeper background check on both of these bastards. I want to know more about this Morgan bitch than her priest and gynecologist. Anastasia claimed there was a connection between Morgan and Hyde, but I just didn't pursue it quickly enough. Well, that was the past. Hyde and Morgan now have my fullest attention.

I attempt to organize my thoughts. These past few days have been filled with one disaster after another. This should be the best time of our lives, yet Anastasia and I have struggled from the very beginning by misunderstandings, mishaps and misadventures. I glance at the framed sonogram photo on my desk. Without fail, every time I attempt to discuss Ana's decision to terminate our baby, _babies_ , there's an interruption. Is Fate's hand at work here?

I'm still somewhat concerned about her determination. What's worse is that she honestly believed that this was something I wanted. While it's true that I never saw biological children in my future, I never saw Anastasia in my future either. If I had known she was coming, I would've run as far and as fast as possible in the opposite direction, and I would've made the biggest mistake of my life.

Anastasia has tried many times to convince me that Elena had abused me. Now, at more than any other time, I'm finally beginning to believe her. Most of the tripe I regurgitated to Ana was spouted from Elena years ago. "Love is for fools… People like us don't need it... Love isn't real… Making love is for pussies... Life is short, fuck hard…They're all a dime a dozen…I don't do _more_."

I could see how, newly married, Ana would have been terrified to tell me. She might have thought I'd snap when she told me. With a much cooler head, I think she made the decision to save our relationship, though what kind of bond would have remained after such a travesty has yet to be determined.

She has obviously forgotten that she is _my_ more. She's confusing herself with the plethora of replaceable pussy I once had on retainer. Escala used to have a revolving door. As soon as one disappointed or inconvenienced me, they would be efficiently directed out of the apartment, usually by Taylor, kicking and screaming, begging, crying and broken, attempting to retract whatever words or actions which caused me to permanently eject them from my life.

But of all the infractions, the biggest offense they could ever commit was asking me for _more_. More what? Cock? I had plenty more where that came from. Money? Sure. I'll have it wired to your account posthaste. You want to meet my family? Oh, ho-ho. Silly rabbit. Trix are for kids! Suck my cock and stop talking nonsense. Take you out in _public_? Whatever for? I'm not an exhibitionist. I'm not taking you anywhere I won't fuck you, and I'll only fuck you _here_. You want to be my _girlfriend_? I don't do the girlfriend thing, or the friend thing, for that matter. You want to have my baby? You're a _breeder_? Pee in this cup, hold your ass cheeks open and wait for the beep. _That was a close call. Fuck, that vasectomy is looking better and better right now_. Have you read your contract? You want me to meet _your_ parents? What the fuck! Let's imagine the conversation, shall we? How did you two meet? Well, my former Domme procured your subservient daughter for me to beat and fuck in extreme, deviant ways. Please pass the potatoes.

It was baffling that seemingly intelligent, liberated women signing contracts carefully delineating all of the ways I could or could not strike, restrain or fuck them decided to change their minds after a certain number of days or strokes. Almost without fail, they'd start hinting around at the two-and-a-half-month mark when the contract was about to expire. Hard limits would often soften, if not disappear entirely, two weeks before termination or renewal negotiations. I fisted so many pussies and asses in the final days of contracts that I could probably moonlight as a vet birthing calves. There were a couple subs that pissed me off, attempting to breach my hard limits when I began discussing extensions. They must've confused _renewal_ with _upgrade_. I bound them to the horse, wrote 'fucking idiot' on their backs with permanent marker and fucked them up the ass until they sweat the ink off. The scent of their desperation permeated Escala.

They simply couldn't understand why we couldn't be more when I had only acquired them to scratch an itch, even if it was a rather persistent itch. Beautiful? Of course. Experienced? Vastly. Replaceable? Infinitely. I'd actually lucked out with my preference: petite, pale brunettes. I lived in Washington state; a place where you had to purposely tan _not_ to be pale. I'd started my sex life with a cougar, so they didn't even have to be particularly young. All they needed was the ability to fuck for hours, take whatever I dished out, come when allowed and leave when commanded. Who knew there were so many pretty little masochists in the world? My cup runneth over.

Leila Williams was a sweet ride. The perfect submissive. Supple. Flexible. She took everything I gave and begged for more. Then she asked for the dreaded _more_ and ruined it all. All of that lovely convenience. Gone in a blink. Oops! She was crazy in love and wanted to complicate our arrangement. She had met someone who would give her that elusive _more_ , and I was pleased for her once I was convinced she hadn't risked my dick and my health by fucking around; better her than me. I even let her carry on a one-sided e-mail thread regaling me with fantasies of their wonderful life together, since she stayed the longest but was the only one to leave without much of a fuss. I didn't watch much television but she was like a one-woman reality show. Absolutely no way in hell was love and marriage going to work for her unless her husband had a fucking machine and wasn't afraid to use it.

Elena was pissed off. She took Leila being such a flake as a personal affront. People she made introductions for leaving the community made her look bad, especially when their desertion cost her fifty grand a head. Hopefully, when Leila regained her senses, Elena would take her back. Elena wouldn't send her my way; I've _never_ taken a sub back after our arrangement ended. Sex was one area in my life where I _never_ recycle, much to Elena's chagrin. _She_ was the one who taught me to never look back and keep my eyes on the prize. Perhaps she would match Leila with some wealthy, older Dom desiring arm-candy.

What irked me most was going back to the drawing board, waiting for Elena to send a batch of files and using Barney and Welch to investigate the lucky bitch who drew the short straw. After they'd compiled the usual blackmail file, I'd have to get to _know_ her, from her hard and soft limits to her circadian rhythm and fertility cycle, so she didn't get any crazy ideas to bond or breed. That had happened of course, attempted breeding. There was a reason I'd bought out the drugstore's supply of pregnancy, ovulation and fertility test kits and kept updated menstruation trackers. I was rich, disgustingly wealthy and apparently possessed great genes based on most of the subs' stupefied expressions when they got their first look at me.

There was no way I was entering monogamous contractual arrangements with these creatures just to have to wrap it up. They had to submit to me in _all_ things: urinalysis, blood tests, drug tests, STD tests, full panels; I even had a nutritionist generate food plans based on their test results. I needed them healthy to prevent illnesses that required antibiotics because antibiotics nullify birth control. Yes, I was that paranoid because, yes, they were out to get me. And yes, all of this was required before they got a gander of me or my contract.

I knew that Ana worries about these women, especially Elena and Leila, but truthfully, I couldn't see it. Elena was very old news who struggled to remain relevant. I felt tremendous guilt that our affair destroyed her marriage, resulting in injuries requiring two surgeries and near destitution. Yet Elena was the one who came on to me, and held on far longer than _I_ ever desired. I provided all the startup funds for Esclava and even gave her the land for its first shop. Sometimes, she reminds me that she 'saved' me and gave me the one hundred thousand I needed to form GEH, and I have to laugh.

She had, and still has, no concept of money. She may have _loaned_ me a hundred grand of Linc's money, but she didn't put in the hundred hour plus workweek that I maintained for the first several years. She didn't put together a team of economists, lawyers, publicists, engineers and scientists. She wasn't glad-handing with heads of state. That shit was all _me_. Besides, a loan isn't a gift. When Carrick cut me off and Grace covered her eyes and ears to his shit, my mother's father took a chance on me, and loaned me the additional _nine hundred_ thousand dollars needed (quickly liquidating assets and leveraging some debt). He was pissed at Carrick's reaction to me dropping out of Harvard. Apparently, Daddy Warbucks had forgotten that most of the money in our trusts was put there by Theodore Trevelyan himself. It wasn't as if I had decided to take a gap year, or join a commune. I had withdrawn from Harvard with a 4.0 GPA, rowing and taking honors classes. It was really fucked up that he wouldn't allow me to access my trust. All the money I needed and more was there, even allowing for taxes and early-withdrawal penalties.

I had a kick-ass, yet time-sensitive, business plan, requiring immediate action. My age was already working against me; the last thing I needed was to be a part-time business owner because I had classes to attend. School was in my fucking way. My grandfather, understanding my vision, realized that my window of opportunity was a rapidly-shrinking crack and, loaned me the money and acted as a mentor the first few months. The cost of failure was high. Not only would I have to find a way to pay them back, I'd have to return to school. We made a gentleman's agreement that not even Grace knew about, thus Elena never knew. It didn't matter, as I had soon repaid them both tenfold. I tried to give my grandfather an interest in GEH, but he refused, saying that seeing me succeed and while watching his son-in-law squirm was enough reward. When Elena's business suffered a few setbacks, I became a silent, yet majority stakeholder.

Leila was a sadness. She reminded me of the crackwhore, only she didn't die on me. She was the sub that held out the longest; I was convinced she was a true devotee to the lifestyle. That's why I continued to renew her contract again and again. I never expected for her to try to attach herself to me with anything other than her mouth, pussy or ass. Hearts and flowers? I felt terribly sorry for her husband since she ran off with him into the sunset whilst ostensibly 'in love' with me. Usually people getting married have experienced some form of limerence, but unfortunately Leila was simply in love with being _loved_ , so she could just transfer her emotions from one guy to the next in a snap. Love really _was_ for fools.

When she made her less than triumphant return, I was disgusted to learn that she was mourning the death of her _love_. What? _Love_ didn't work so she thought I'd help her get back in the saddle? Her husband had given her the shaft when she fucked around on him. I was mightily pissed because now she was bringing her problems to my door. This was exactly the type of messiness I'd spent almost half my life avoiding. I had to pay her husband thousands just for him to inform us that he had cut her loose. And in an almost gleeful tone, he announces that her lover died in a car accident. Perhaps he considered it cosmic justice for Leila fucking around on him, but to me, it was just a colossal annoyance.

It was obvious I couldn't send her to Elena in her condition. Elena would take one look at her and direct her to the nearest street corner. Then she would _become_ the crackwhore instead of just looking like her, and it would be my fault for not rescuing her from _love_ by keeping her on a much shorter leash as a sub. I could have convinced her, but once she got that infernal _more_ idea in her head, I only saw tears, paternity and palimony suits in my future.

Further muddying the waters was my burgeoning pursuit of Anastasia Steele at the time. She had turned my world on its ear, and it showed. Moment by moment, layer upon layer, she was revealing my belief system to be faulty and ridiculous. Within _days_ of requiring her to sign the usual NDA and trying to stuff her into the submissive box, I was taking pictures with her, meeting her parents and introducing her to my family. I had even followed her to Georgia where we chased the dawn. I held desperately to my rules and expectations to the last, but in a choice between my former, secret, sterile, carefully controlled associations and a deeply sensual, passionate (and public) relationship with Anastasia, she won, hands down. I hadn't become a billionaire by letting the best deal in my life slip through my fingers.

I was jealous over a woman for the first time. Before, I had not cared if a sub had ridden hundreds of dicks before she got under mine. I was just grateful that they were well broken in, could exercise their Kegels and never safe-worded. However, Anastasia was all mine. It wasn't just her virginity, because I dispensed with that flap of skin as soon as possible. Stupid me, I thought planting my flag would be enough to extinguish the endless fascination I had with her. If anything, it got worse. She should have come with a fucking warning label.

I thought that her appeal was between her legs and if I just had her once, I would be replete, satisfied with my knowledge of her, so that I could move on in my usual way. Unfortunately, my condition was much worse than envisaged. She was my addiction, but the side effects were insane. People, mother especially, started looking at me as if I was _normal_ for once. There was actually someone at my side that I wasn't embarrassed to be seen with in public. No, Christian Grey was not gay, sorry ladies, _and_ gents. He just wasn't into _you_. I began receiving more invitations with reservations for plus ones when I'd only just labelled her a friend.

Elena was self-elected to talk me down. She couldn't understand why I had to change my way of thinking. Why didn't I just take Anastasia's refusal as read and find another sub? She had several _great_ choices in reserve. Why was I taking pictures with a woman? She was shocked that I had introduced her to Grace. She wasn't in the lifestyle? Why was I texting at the table? Smiling? Somehow our weekly dinner to discuss her salons had devolved into unwanted, unsolicited advice about where I inserted my cock. She asked me if I was in _love_. Then she told me that I was. When I put her in her place, she encouraged me to seek Ana in Savannah. Maybe she was using reverse psychology, but it didn't matter since Elena's words and my conscience were saying the same fucking thing: go get your woman.

I _needed_ Ana, and I didn't need _anyone_. She was a thrill surpassing sex, drugs and music and she had pulled me far beyond the borders of reason. And that's why every other ball got dropped. A year ago, I would've had Leila on the slow-boat to bum-fuck Egypt had she appeared in Escala uninvited. However, the sum of my vigilance was directed toward a young woman barely out of university. Everything about her enticed me. I knew I was smothering her because I had never focused so much of my attention on anyone. She had rendered me awestruck, so it was only fair that I overwhelmed her, too.

It didn't help that she was fucking blind to her attributes. It's as if she had never looked in a mirror or something. There was absolutely no vanity in her. That shit just wasn't normal, especially when I could see the line of bastards salivating after her and trying to get into her panties with my own fucking eyes. Paul Clayton, Jose Rodriguez, Ethan Kavanagh, her goatfucker of a boss, Jack Hyde, and quite a few nameless undergrads and men on the street. I'm surprised she wasn't knocked over by the rush of testosterone and pheromones as she entered a room. Even women wanted a piece of what was mine!

Now, married to her, I still can't get enough. She has absolutely no idea just how fucking serious I was about abducting her for 24/7 TPE before we started seeing each other exclusively. She had me completely unhinged. I felt sorry for Ray, trying to keep a little girl, who must've been utterly fabulous even as a teen, safe from all the horny bastards in Montesano. He told me she never dated, and only went to Montesano High's homecoming and prom because he forced her to observe those rites of passage. How could she not notice men adjusting their pants to hide erections popping up wherever she goes?

So yes, I had lo-jacked my wife. If I couldn't be with her, I was at least going to know where the hell she was so I could have some idea of who was even looking at was mine. Unfortunately, my obsession and worry about Ana's had influenced Taylor to devise the unthinkable. He told me we had to scare her into security because she didn't follow protocol and didn't respect the danger she was in. Of course she didn't respect it. It's not as if I or anyone else ever sat her down to explain it. Still, I allowed this shit to happen because deep down, and sometimes bubbling up to the surface, I was still pissed about the bitter confrontation that got this train rolling. I had forgiven her, but I hadn't forgotten and I'd be damned if I let her risk herself, or our two babies inside or outside her, ever again. I'm glad she didn't leave, although she was currently torturing me by staying away in her study.

I hear the tone as someone seeks entry to the apartment. Soon, Taylor enters my office ushering in Welch and Barney. I knew they were delivering bad news, as I had not summoned any of them. That, and they all looked noticeably aged by the knowledge of whatever the fuck it was. A voice told me to call Anastasia into the room. She hates secrecy. I used the house intercom to tell Ana we had visitors in my office and I wanted her to join us.

The men looked decidedly uncomfortable with that, but fuck them. It totally defeated the purpose to keep her out of the loop when they were here, if I was only going to inform her as soon as they left. Ana may as well get whatever it is straight from the horse's mouth.

As Ana walked in, the rest of us stood to our feet, retaking our seats. Ana came around and sat on my lap, since there were no other chairs available. Lucky me. Or so I thought, until Welch opened his mouth and took us both on what seemed to be a field trip exploring the circles of Hell.

 _ **WARNING: TRIGGER ALERT - Search for "safe 2 read" to avoid this passage**_

"After Hyde and Morgan arrived at the police station, they were immediately processed, "Welch began. We knew this, so why the intro? He continued, "Hyde's file was expedited, since he's already in the system and his injuries had to be treated. Elizabeth Morgan, on the other hand, was the wildcard. You have to understand that neither requested an attorney nor would they answer questions. You're for all intents and purposes the crown prince of King's County. The police had to be seen to be doing something besides putting your enemies in time-out, so they searched Morgan's prints against the known fingerprints in the AFIS database. Honestly, sir, ma'am, no-one expected a hit, let alone two."

 _Two hits_? This bitch committed at least two _other_ crimes? I was afraid to ask; turns out, I didn't have to, as Welch began to speak again.

"The first instance of the print being entered into the system is a missing persons case. A coed freshman disappeared from her dorm about ten years ago, but the case was ice-cold. Her single dorm was wiped clean; cops only found a partial print of an index finger. Her parents had some important friends, so the city casts its nets every year for new clues and leads."

"What was her name?" Ana asks, with a trembling voice.

"The coed's name was Jaime Wren. Here's a photo," Barney offers, showing us a photo of a petite, redhead with green eyes, standing with a much older couple. Grandparents? "The couple pictured with her are her parents. She was their only child, born late in their lives."

The beautiful, happy family staring up at me was missing an essential component. Jamie _Wren._ Jamie _Bird. Baby Bird_. "There was no evidence of foul play, but there was really no evidence at all, except the partial. The problem was that Jaime was a brilliant student, dependable worker and dutiful daughter. She always called her parents faithfully and sent letters once or twice a month. Her room was clean, but all of her things were there. Nothing was missing, not even her keys. It was if she had just simply vanished from her room."

"And you're saying that only a partial print was found?" I asked. How did they link that to Morgan?

"Only a partial print was found in Jaime's dorm room," Welch said. "However, Morgan's full print was found almost a year ago on the plastic sheeting wrapped around the body of a young woman, found in a shallow grave… The body was discovered by a woman walking her dog. Looks like Fido retrieved part of the victim's hand when he returned a bone to his owner."

And with that Ana fled from my lap, diving for the wastebasket, where she emptied the contents of her stomach. What the hell? Elizabeth Morgan killed someone? I pulled Ana gently to me, offering her some water and a handkerchief. What weren't they telling us?

"This victim had been forcibly raped and tortured for days; there was extensive vaginal tearing, handprint shaped bruises and she had ligature marks around her throat, wrists and ankles," Welch told us. I felt the bile climbing up _my_ throat. "Police identified her from her fingerprints. Her parents had registered her in some child safety database. The heavy rain had washed away the soil before it could harden. The body had only been in the ground a day or two."

"But she was raped, Mr. Welch. I thought you said Eliza-," Anastasia began.

"Just Welch, ma'am. It's true. There was also at least one male perpetrator, at least for the rape portion and the hand-shaped bruises, but saliva was found on the victim's eyelids. The body was cleaned pretty thoroughly after the assault, but between the time of the cleansing and the wrapping… There's no other way to say it, ma'am. We believe Ms. Morgan must've spit in the victim's face."

Oh my God. What the fuck was this bitch into? Anastasia was leaning into my chest, tears sliding down her cheeks. Silently sobbing and trembling. "So you think Ms. Morgan had help?" Ana asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Grey, that's what we suspect," Barney offered. "This is partly why we're here. We have other information that the police do not, that would help in their investigation, However, if we submit it, there would be no way to keep this out of the media."

"Why not? What's the problem?" Ana inquired.

"Ms. Morgan's background report has her attending the same university at the same time as the missing girl," Barney said. "When Mr. Grey told us to focus on any connections with Jack Hyde, we only had to look up his resume. Morgan, Hyde and the missing girl all attended Princeton."

Taylor finally broke in to add that the woman whose body was found had been looking for work through an employment agency. "SIP was listed as one of the places she had applied to."

"There's more, sir. When we completed our deep background check on Hyde, we discovered he had a sealed juvenile file. Since we couldn't get into it without leaving an obvious trail, we decided to look deeper into his time in foster care. Considering his obsession with both you and Mrs. Grey, we also cross-referenced your background checks with that of Hyde and Morgan. While Mrs. Grey didn't cross paths with either of them until her interview at SIP, you crossed paths with Hyde when you were four years old. You lived together at the Collier residence for two months while you were both in foster care."

 _ **TRIGGER ALERT END - safe 2 read**_

Foster care? I was adopted by the Greys. Grace was my mother! I could recall everything else from my early life with startling clarity, no matter how much I'd have loved to repress it; I would have remembered being in foster care, wouldn't I? I closely examined an old photo Barney handed to me. Pictured is a slightly threadbare middle-aged couple standing behind several children. I'm the emaciated one in the front, holding a ragged blanket. Apparently, I was a thumb-sucker. Standing in the row behind me is a sour-faced Jack Hyde, future delinquent.

Anastasia is rubbing my shoulders, comforting me. Did I zone out again? Ana says something to Taylor; I must be worse off than I thought if she's actually speaking to him. I've seen Taylor lurking about, waiting for an opportunity to come clean or some shit, but Anastasia isn't having it. It must seriously be fucking his life that Ana is such an excellent cook, because he can't even send in Gail to soften Ana up. Gail comes in, cleans and leaves. Ana makes herself scarce, and my words about engaging with the staff have stymied any of their efforts. I'd speak up for them if Ana wasn't using my stupid rules against me. What could I say? It's OK to like them now?

"Barney, Alex; I know you can't open the sealed file, but there's nothing stopping you from following up with the other children he spent time with in foster care, is there?" she asked. "He's obsessed with my husband, and referred to him as an Ivy league frat boy, even though he graduated from Princeton and Christian dropped out of Harvard. I'd hate to think he's petty enough to be carrying a grudge against my husband from something he may have done when he was four, but stranger things have happened."

"Yes, ma'am," the three wise men intoned. When did they come to the conclusion she was in charge? I looked down at her sad, determined face and thought, _I stand corrected,_ _nothing to see here folks_. _Carry on_.

"Guys, I think we have to assume that missing girl is dead too. I read about a murder in Texas that happened years ago. A guy cheated on his girlfriend and they murdered the girl to re-purify their love. Elizabeth Morgan seems vindictive enough. You should send some investigators to Princeton. I'm sure Elizabeth and Jack both knew Jamie Wren. They probably know where she is right now."

I added, "Look into all the places Hyde and Morgan may have worked, lived or even visited on vacation. See if you can correlate those locations with any missing persons."

The men nod and depart. Ana is grasping me so tightly, it almost hurts. She whispers, "They killed those women, didn't they?"

"I think they may have, baby," I said, wishing with everything that it wasn't so. Bonnie and Clyde, Morgan and Hyde. It may not have stopped at two. There was a significant gap of time between their attendance at Princeton and employment at SIP. These sick fucks may have been at this shit for years and there's a large stretch of land between New Jersey and Washington state.

Flynn's right, I'm not a sadist. At least I'm not quite _that_ far along the spectrum, but there's absolutely no way I can discuss this with him. I've lost a great deal of confidence in him and to be honest, I'm not flourishing. I've outgrown him and he's coming very close to becoming a Yes-man, which is the last person a Dom needs in a therapist.

"Ana, can I come with you the next time you see Dr. Weiss?" I asked.

"Of course you can come. I want you to. She does couple's therapy, too," she replied helpfully.

"That's great, but I think I might need to talk with her about my own issues."

"What about Flynn?"

"I think we both know that ship has sailed. This is far beyond his paygrade. Besides, I thought you didn't like him."

Warily, she says, "Honestly, I would not care if I actually thought he was helping you, but I don't believe he is. Besides, he's a terrible couple's therapist. I left his office, afraid because I had already said yes."

Well, that's that, I suppose. It's all over but the crying.

The door chimes again. Just as I was wondering who could be at our door now, Anastasia leapt off my lap and sprints out of my office. I got up to follow her. Our new guests were my parents.

Ana comes over to me and says in a low voice, "I had Taylor contact your parents. Chances are, if you knew Hyde when you were four, they might have met him, too. They've brought your adoption records."

 _And the truth shall set you free. Well, we'll see about that._

E/N: FF is being terrible with reviews. Sometimes I cannot view or reply to any. I had a review wondering if Ana dislikes the house on the Sound because CG picked it. Not so. She loves the house; CG is the one who wanted to tear it down and build anew. She wants to put her stamp on their residence, not turn it into Bachelor Pad 2.0, like Escala or GEH: sleek, glass, modern.

Ana's pissed at Gail because Gail _knew_ all the security measures and could have easily had Leila captured (and treated) by simply hitting one of many silent alarms. Besides, she sees Taylor and Gail as a unit. Since her 'abduction' all Ana sees is people arrayed against her and she's trying to put an end to that.

Neither have CG nor Ana have forgotten the planned termination. He _forgave_ her, but Christian has _really_ not forgotten. Do you think he could? I just thought it would be better handled in the therapist's office.

 _ **Guests**_ : I understand you may not always be able to login, but please leave your name or username so I can respond to your reviews. I don't want to be stuck moderating truly _anonymous_ guest reviews. I have been approving them indiscriminately, but that will stop.

Next post: Grace and Carrick help Christian fill in the blanks. Another outing with Patterson. Ana tells Ray about Jose's stalking and subsequent attack. CG discovers something naughty in Anastasia's search history.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


	11. Chapter 11

I would like to give thanks to my beta, Sherryola from FF although she didn't beta this author's note. I'm saving her time for where it will do the most good - Chapter 11, the mammoth of a chapter seemingly without end, already at 10k words.

A/N: Generally, I like to address select reviewer questions/criticisms in the endnotes, but I have received many reviews that make it seem as if Ana's being too hard on Gail and company. Once an author's note reaches almost 1k words, it needs its very own space.

 **Author's Note 01: Ana's attitude regarding Gail (and by extension, security)**

There are actually a few issues at work here, the first being that Ana feels like she has absolutely no privacy, even in her own home. She can't relax and chill out because they have staff. She can't even wash her own panties if she wants. Ana is a very self-sufficient person, yet her basic activities of daily life have all been usurped. She even has CG to wash her ass! For the most part, when the subs were there, they had little or no interaction with Gail. The subs cooked and cleaned up after themselves, so even though they were subs, they still had a certain level of _autonomy_ that Ana lacks because Gail is there four to five days a week. CG and Gail barely let Ana use her own damn kitchen. I think Ana had to actually get permission at one point. When she does, it's pretty much a special privilege. It's _Gail's_ kitchen in Ana's fucking home! Would you feel like the Queen of your castle under these circumstances? Does CG even _need_ a house _manager_ now that he has a wife?

Second, Gail is not nearly as ignorant of the security situation as Ana. She's been with CG longer than Taylor. CG may be a great, generous boss, but in his regular life, especially where the subs were concerned, he was an asshole. There are many scorned women who had to be literally carried or dragged, kicking and screaming out of his apartment. There was a direct correlation between the WSU graduation photo publication and Leila's appearance at CG's apartment. I have a difficult time believing that Leila is the first scorned former sub to show up at Escala, and I'm also pretty sure that some elaborate measures were taken to keep Gail safe there.

In my story, several easily accessible silent alarms had been installed. There is absolutely _no problem_ with Gail giving Leila emergency treatment except waiting to alert _Taylor_ after the ambulance arrived and then after she arrived at the hospital. I didn't expect her to pick up a phone in front of Leila, dial 9-1-1 and wait for the police; I expected her to alert security that was readily available. She did, however, call an ambulance for Leila to be picked up **at Escala**! Did Gail take CG's precious privacy into account then? Hadn't she signed one of CG's blanket NDAs? Taylor was out of town. What the hell could he do from Savannah? Every car in CG's purview is lo-jacked including Gail's. Leila would've had a much harder time escaping had Gail done just one little thing. Also, neither CG nor Taylor gave her the riot act about security protocol and risking her life dealing with Leila. Gail was comforted! Compare that to their actions towards Ana, who they've told pretty much nothing about security other than 'here, take these burly strangers with you everywhere you go.' Ana may be a pushover, but she resents the hell out of Gail, Taylor and CG for this glaring double standard. Guess which of these individuals Ana _can_ actually do something about?

Lastly, she's very pissed at (and disenchanted with) Taylor and has lost basically all confidence in him. She can't exactly kick him out of the apartment, separating him from his girlfriend, can she? In fact, she isn't exactly kicking them out; the expansion and remodeling of the penthouse calls for their displacement. Semantics, I know, but she was a literature major. Getting them out of her apartment is a welcome side-effect. Gail and Taylor are, for all intents and purposes, a package deal. She hasn't tried to fire anyone or reduce their pay, and as the lady of the house, she could easily get another _housekeeper_. Her treatment of these individual is _tame_ compared to what she could do; she could have had Taylor _and_ CG's asses prosecuted for what they did. She could have fired (or at least refused protection from) Sawyer who let her down and fucked her over on Taylor's say-so.

I really believe she agreed/insisted on seeing Leila at GP because she was probably stunned that she was out and about after holding her at gunpoint and being sent to the damn country club/finishing school of a loony bin. Think about it. The last thing Ana _saw_ was Leila being taken away to places unknown. Even if Christian didn't have the book thrown at her, don't you think Ana had a reasonable expectation that the evil bitch was no longer free to move about the country? How much do you want to bet that the witch had tried to e-mail Ana before she showed up at Ana's job? Also, what's the point of security if they can't actually keep you safe? The President has Secret Service, yet he can go to work, travel to different countries and go on vacations. Ana's security only seems able to keep her locked up or keep everyone locked out.

I don't intend for Anastasia to be angry forever; case in point, she still speaks to Carla, who as far as I'm concerned, betrayed and abused her more than CG, Taylor and company combined. Perhaps since she trusted and expected more from them, her disappointment and bitterness is greater. She hasn't expected anything [good] from Carla in a very long time. Has anyone noticed that it hasn't even been a week yet? Let her gain some equilibrium. Ana's pissed, stressed and pregnant with twins. She should really come with a warning label.

[I agree with many of the reviews/critiques that stated Ana should have cared more about security, but since they didn't provide actionable intelligence of viable threats, CG and his band of merry men were left looking like overpaid, hypervigilant cockblockers. Christian wasn't telling her about jealous, possibly murderous, people or kidnap threats, he was telling her that men were trying to get in her panties.]


	12. Chapter 12

I would like to give thanks, love and birthday shout-outs to my beta, Sherryola from FF, my husband MG and his twin.

A/N: In this chapter (which has once again gotten away from me), Grace and Carrick help Christian fill in the blanks. CG and Ana talk seriously about their blips and address their work-life balance. Fallout from the attempted abduction continues.

 **Chapter 11: Stellar**

 _Meet me in outer space  
We could spend the night  
Watch the earth come up  
I've grown tired of that place  
Won't you come with me?  
We could start again_

 _How do you do it?  
Make me feel like I do  
How do you do it?  
It's better than I ever knew_

 _Meet me in outer space  
I will hold you close  
If you're afraid of heights  
I need you to see this place  
It might be the only way  
That I can show you how it feels to be inside of you_

 _How do you do it?  
Make me feel like I do  
How do you do it  
It's better than I ever knew  
You are stellar_

 _-_ _Ana comes over to me and says in a low voice, "I had Taylor contact your parents. Chances are, if you knew Hyde when you were four, they might have met him, too. They've brought your adoption records."  
And the truth shall set you free. Well, we'll see about that._

APoV

Grace and Carrick's visit left us both wrung out. I don't know what I had envisioned about Christian's adoption, but this wasn't it. We learned about various obstacles and burning hoops this couple had to traverse in order to adopt a newly-orphaned child who had suffered extensive abuse. I can't imagine what the state of Michigan thought it was doing, looking for _anyone_ who could have left Ella and Christian to the deplorable living conditions in which he was discovered. Hadn't he been traumatized enough? Did they have to send this abused, malnourished baby into the dubious arms of foster care, too?

He was forced to reside with the Colliers for two months while they searched for relatives that would be willing to take him in. Grace and Carrick made visits to the foster home as often as they were allowed but, while they admit that the Colliers seemed like a good couple, they still felt as if they were abandoning their child each time they were required to leave.

When questioned about Jack Hyde and shown the picture we had of the Colliers, they did recall an aggressive boy who intruded on all of their visits, that would angrily skulk away when Mrs. Collier reminded him that the Greys were there for Christian. So, it was true. Hyde did resent my husband for something he did when he was just four. Existing. Perhaps, Jack thought the Greys were shopping for child and begrudged Christian for being selected. Did Jack realize that Christian had been chosen before he ever darkened the Colliers' doorstep?

Could this short period of time in the Colliers' custody have contributed to Christian's distance from his family? Grace saved and bonded with him, only for him to end up with another couple and a bunch of misfits. Could a child of four recognize a bait and switch? He was grieving and he was four. Who knows what went on inside his head then. But I know that Christian has a difficult time relating to people, even those that love him and have no reason to hurt him. Did he see a good psychologist _ever_? Did Grace and Carrick? What made them think that a summer spent landscaping would help him when over a decade of their love could not?

Sure, he may not have been ditching school or fighting anymore, and he may have reported for duty when Grace and Carrick expected him to, but couldn't they tell it was all a performance? Bitch Troll just wound him up by his cock and pointed him in the direction she wanted him to go. And these upper-class professionals, known for their powers of perception and observation, bought it hook, line and sinker. God, their good friend Elena must've been cackling in her dungeon while preparing for Christian's next scene.

He's sitting on the couch now, his eyes vacant of any expression. He's stunned. I know how it feels to realize you never had much of a chance growing up. It really is the luck of the draw whether or not your biological parents were gambling with their genitals. Some come to the table with a full deck. Others try to stack it. Would they end up holding a full house, or would they come up craps? Carla was a divining rod for scum. Her relative poverty coupled with temporary grief at losing her meal ticket allowed her to luck up on Raymond Steele, but once she recovered, she reopened her twat for business to the biggest loser. Russian roulette is an option for the extreme gamblers like Ella. It's not like we get to choose our parents after all.

I reach for him, caressing and rubbing his arms and shoulders. I try to pull him towards me, but he resists initially. I crawl into his lap and use my hands to frame his beautiful face. The face of my angel, born in the fires of hell. His eyes focus on me, and I attempt to pull him to me again. As he acquiesced this time, I slowly remove myself from his lap, moving alongside him on the couch, dragging his muscular frame towards me until I situate his head on my lap. I begin to rub and massage his head and shoulders, slowly, rhythmically. I wonder if he's ever let himself have this type of touch. I doubt it as something like this would require a great deal of trust, and he didn't have much to spare.

I'm running my fingers through his unruly locks, making his hair stick out in even more directions. He has cowlicks! How did this happen? I allow my fingertips to lightly press into his scalp, moving in small circles. His breathing has slowed, he's becoming so relaxed, I thought he would fall asleep, resting his head on my lap, when he asks, "Why did you want to abort our baby?"

And my throat seems to swell shut as my hands falter. His voice reverberates to my core. His hand comes up to grip my wrist and he guides my hands that have fallen away from him back to his head where he motions me to continue to massaging his head. "See, you're safe. I'm very calm right now. I'm at your mercy, in fact."

"Melissa says that she doesn't trust the calm, because that's when things turn to shit," I reply.

"Patterson said that?" he asked.

"Yep, right before we went to the gym."

"She seems like a very smart woman, but this time she's wrong. I've been trying to find a way to ask you, and since I've literally fallen into your lap, I think the time is right. Normally, when I lay in your lap, something else is happening, and we get swept away from our lives, our problems, but not tonight. OK?"

"Ok," I say with a very small voice. "I thought you wouldn't want a baby. I didn't think you'd you want children ever."

"See, you said what was on your mind, and I didn't strike you, yell or run into the night, did I?"

"No, you didn't do any of that," I agreed, still wary.

"When I saw the form and pamphlet, I panicked, you know. About the pregnancy," he admitted quietly.

"You did?" I asked. All I could see was his anger. I never imagined his hope.

"Yes, for about five whole minutes, until I remembered that the mother of my child would be you, and you wouldn't let me fuck up."

"So I was right. You didn't want children?" I asked.

"I didn't want a lot of things that I realize now are highly desirable and would be very good for me. I know I took a criminally long time to get rid of the things that were bad, but you, Mrs. Grey are the best thing in my life."

"But you were so anxious for me to be on birth control. I don't understand."

"Because I wanted you to be comfortable. You were a young woman who had just graduated from college and were looking for the first job in your field. I'm pretty sure early maternity leave would've cramped your style. And I wasn't _planning_ to knock you up. Did you know one of the biggest problems in achieving orgasm for women is fear of pregnancy?"

"Really?"

"Yep," he stated with a pop, "Even condoms aren't sufficient. What if I used too much force? _Oops_ would be much too late. Besides, I hate the fuckers."

I laughed. "So the birth control was mostly for _my_ benefit?"

"In a way; you really have no idea how I handled birth control before you. I've never checked your basal body temperature. And though you hate to use the bathroom with me there, I've never walked in, handed you a cup and made you piss in it while I watched," he said matter-of-factly.

"You did that?" I asked skeptically, once again upset on behalf of his ex-subs, before I remembered that A, they signed the dotted line which meant they agreed with that shit, B, they got to fuck my husband, therefore I get to despise them on general principle after the fact and C, I was fucking grateful that his early shenanigans never bore fruit because my husband is so fucking anal.

"And more," he added unrepentantly. "Even though my parents sent their children to the most elite schools, there was much more underage, unplanned pregnancy than you might think considering the level of educational attainment of the parents. The only difference between our schools and those in the inner city was that there were many, many ways to handle the _problem_ if it arose. Spas, finishing schools, fat camp, extracurricular programs and vacations were the most used excuses to cover up a quickie abortion and everyone turned a blind-eye."

"That's terrible," I said.

"That's what I thought you were planning to do. All I could see was you flushing me away," he said. "Would you have already done it if you didn't need my signature on the form?"

"I don't think I could have. I had to psych myself up for it from moment to moment. It was like tunnel vision. I couldn't bear to talk about it or think about it at all, really. And I was mad at you because it was an impossible choice. I felt I would lose you if I didn't do it. That you wouldn't want me. All I could hear in my head was that I wouldn't be able to meet your needs if I was pregnant," I said miserably.

"Elena and I really did a number on you, didn't we?" he asked musingly. "I tried to make you be civil to someone who molested me, and used her relationship with my mother to take potshots at you. Elena pursuing you to give you relationship advice. I'm surprised you didn't take a whip to both of us."

I was shocked. He had _never_ said what they did was wrong. He's always said that she helped him and kept him from becoming a drug addict. He never really said anything negative about her, even after his fateful birthday cum glad you didn't die cum impromptu engagement party. He even gifted her hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of equity in Esclava. Why now?

"You always told me she helped you," I argued.

"I was never going to be a father either, was I?"

"So getting me pregnant makes such a difference? It changes how you feel about Elena," I scoffed. I used to have nightmares about him one day building a shrine or a statue commemorating this bitch and now he tells me knocking me up caused this sea change? Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I don't buy this shit.

"Essentially, yes. I deal in risk each and every day, taking a chance that my investments will pan out. I gamble, in a way. It's not really fair to my competitors because I have the ability to see much more than they do because I'm playing against myself on a much larger chessboard. I've always had a grasp of angles and trajectory, so I can be in place to take advantage of their oversight. But in my personal life, I've been incredibly lazy. I can see that for years I've been subsisting on a diet of low-hanging fruit," he says, his eyes distant.

"I can't see you as lazy. You work practically all day, every day."

"Say you're very busy at home, caught up in some important project, you're very hungry and there's nothing to eat that can be made quickly or that doesn't require attention that you don't have to spare. What do you do? You order delivery, right?"

"Well, yeah. I tend to make my own food, sometimes in bulk, so that generally doesn't happen."

"You are a very industrious bee, but you've missed my point entirely. When it came to my _singular tastes_ , I only had to pick up the phone or open my e-mail to receive a menu of women that I could select from to be delivered to me. And they scratched an itch so I could go about my business with lighter balls and less tension, but it was all empty, just like my relationship with Elena. I was just jerking off using women's bodies instead of my hands," he explained baldly.

And honestly, what the hell can I say to that? It was true. Could I say that he was using those women? Obviously, based on his generosity, they were very well compensated for their troubles. They were using him, too. Though I have some knowledge of the relationship between pain and pleasure, I wouldn't need the strike of a cane or whip to get me there. His ex-subs signed up for that, wanted that.

"What if you need the control again? The extreme kink? I can't be that person for you," I whispered sadly.

"You don't _need_ to be that person, Anastasia. You're above them all. You would have to climb down to reach their level. Not because they were bad, but because none of them were right for me. I remember telling you that I whipped brown-haired girls because they look like my mother. That may have been true at first, but there's absolutely no way I'd have signed up to do that for the rest of my life if I had known what I was getting into. Could you imagine me as an old man still doing that shit? I'd need _two_ canes: one to pop the sub with and the other to hold myself up."

I couldn't hold back the giggles that burst forth at that declaration. God, this man makes me laugh. He's looking at me like I have two heads.

"I haven't heard that giggle in a while. Glad to know I can still amuse you, Mrs. Grey."

"Hard not to laugh at an image like that."

"Toward the end of contracting submissives, I had gotten to a very dangerous point where the scenes became far less exciting and satisfying. Instead of throwing in the towel, there was escalation, because Elena responded by sending me subs with fewer and fewer limits," he confided. "I would have had to adjust some of _my_ hard limits to accommodate _their_ kink. I wasn't going to agree to choke or beat any woman black, blue or bloody, no matter how much she desired it or however many release forms she was willing to sign. You may see me as using them as surrogates for my mother, but that started losing its charm within years. I had already started seeing Flynn, but I still couldn't hug Grace. BDSM as a form of therapy wasn't working, but I held onto it because it was all I knew."

"It was all Elena taught you," I retorted. I hate the Bitch Troll. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

"Yes, _that_ , and the fact that I didn't want to even date any of the subs she sent me, any of the women I met day-to-day or any of the debutantes and friends of friends my family tried to match me with. So instead of comparing yourself to fifteen women I _never_ loved, know that I've met and had the chance to experience numerous women all over the world, yet I chose _you_. And I'll keep choosing you. I need you to choose me. Choose _me_ , Anastasia," he implored, as I noticed we were no longer in the position of safety we had arranged.

He had turned over, and was holding me firmly, looking deeply into my eyes. His eyes, a slate grey, the color of a storm, bore into mine, as if he was probing for truth, demanding a response. Yes. I choose him. I haven't always, and let's see where that's gotten me. Angry at Christian for interfering at my job, insisting that going out of town with Jack, who made my skin crawl and sent all my Spidey senses tingling, was a great career opportunity. Assaulted while working overtime for a man who's been recently revealed as a fucking psychopath. Almost raped in a damn alley because I went running to Kate every time I got my feelings hurt. Going out with Jose, in clear violation of any respect that I have for my husband. I love Kate, but I didn't marry her. I made vows of faith, honor and respect. I'll fallen so short of all my promises, but he loves me anyway. All my hesitation falls away.

"I choose you. I chose you for always, and I'm sorry for ever acting differently," our new vows resonate within my heart and mind. All the hours of researching vows and promises for my wedding distilled into this one thing: choice.

He slips away, heading to our bedroom and motions me to wait when I make to follow. He returns bearing this massive white, blue and gray box, with a huge matching bow on top. He places it on the floor in front of me, and encourages me to open it. He must've bought out some upscale baby boutique, but some of these things look personalized and handmade. There is a small wooden music box which he takes from me, winding it up. The clear strains of Delibes' Lakmé, the Flower Duet, fill the room with their bell-like tones. Acting as anchors are two baby-size, white teddy bears, one with blue eyes the same shade as mine, the other featuring gray eyes like Christian's. They're dressed in lacy christening gowns, with satin trim of alternating colors. It's all quite beautiful and unisex, since we don't know the sex of the babies. There are even lace caps matching the gowns. Also enclosed are several sets of tiny knit hats, mittens and booties in pastel pink, blue, yellow and green. He's even managed to include baby blankets and quilts. It's an entire layette, with all manner of thoughtful provisions, but my only question was when he could have arranged all of this so quickly. I realize that I haven't seen the entire apartment, but I didn't think Christian had Santa's elves on speed-dial.

"When," I asked breathlessly. "How could you get this all together so quickly?"

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm a billionaire, so when I make requests, they tend to be fulfilled rather quickly. That, and I texted Andrea my requirements as soon as we left the doctor's office."

"Wow! So Andrea knows, too?"

"Of course, because she will be responsible for coordinating and tasking a few additional things for two very small people."

"Who else knows?" I asked, trying to find my calm, happy place before I blow up Escala in my ire. My Inner Goddess is cautioning me to be patient with him because he obviously doesn't know what he did wrong, while my inner team of miniature CSIs (common sense individuals) is checking the conversational minefield for clues and evidence… "Look here folks, we've got a live one!"

"Well, Taylor, Welch, Barney and Sawyer, of course. And Andrea," he says as if five extra individuals don't know my business. Doesn't he know most couples don't make the announcements until the first trimester? Is he _trying_ to jinx my uterus?

"Why did you tell all of those people before the first trimester?" I asked impatiently.

"Well, Taylor learned from both of us via closed circuit television in the apartment. After he revived me, he must've reported the situation as per protocol."

And once again, I'm a _situation_. Wait. What? Revived him? What the hell is that noise? "Revived you," I asked with a strangled voice. These men were seriously starting to damage my calm, and I needed a whole shedload of calm right now.

"After you left in the elevator, I kind of had a panic attack and blacked out," he reported. "When I woke up, the team had cleaned and removed all of the flowers, glass and water."

Are we playing house? Am I being punk'd? How is all this crap happening around me without me possessing the first clue? If everything around here is going to be need to know, they were going to have to raise my security clearance because I was tired of being left out of the loop until they decide to hang me with it.

"So those are the only people who know?" I ask, my patience fraying. Melissa knows, as well as Garza and that ass who stole my earrings.

"Well, Gail knows because she has a listing of your dietary requirements. But that's it. No one else knows," he offered helpfully. So a dozen people, more or less, know that I'm pregnant. Lord, please give me strength, a blunt instrument and an ironclad alibi. Amen.

"How many people know we're having twins?" I ask.

"Maybe Andrea, because I said I wanted unisex colors and gave her the description of the two bears I wanted. But she may have thought I wanted various combinations based on the sex and coloring of one baby. Or Gail, because of the dietary requirement sheet," he added. I guess I could live with that. This is very thoughtful. He can't help it that he's accustomed to living in a high-security fishbowl and I'm not.

"Is every room monitored?"

"Pretty much. Some of the zones are not actively monitored, such as the bathrooms."

"There are cameras in the bathrooms, too?" Was I living in "The Real Housewives of Seattle"?

He must have figured that this train of thought was going to derail the evening entirely, and it was pretty late, so he places everything back in the box. Then he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a very small Tiffany blue box. Is it another ring? I asked him to open it for me. It's another charm for my bracelet, a platinum fertility goddess. I don't even feel the tears that have rolled down my cheeks until he begins to wipe them away, kissing me, my forehead and lips.

"Your lips are so very soft when you cry, but these are happy tears, right?"

I nod, full of happiness. I'm overwhelmed. How can I be going from angry and sad to furious and amazed so quickly? These hormones must be managed before I become as mercurial as Fifty. He guides me to our bedroom, once again carrying that baby shower in a box which he deposits in our closet.

Better call Melissa. Tomorrow, I have to tell Ray his best friend's son attacked me. She reacted to the news that we'd be going to visit my father in the hospital like I thought she would. I usually give her the time and place and she explains all the ways we can be ambushed at that location. Apparently, a hospital is a house of horrors from a security standpoint. Multiple points of egress, people in costume, chemical and biological warfare in the form of blood, sweat, tears and other excretory emissions, possible torture, along with landmines disguised as catheter bags. Eww. Alright then. She asks me if I want a photo op or a quick in-and-out. Unfortunately, Christian comes in sans shirt as she asks me.

"I'll take what's behind door number two," he interjects. Silly man.

"I just want to see my dad. I don't want to see anyone else while we're there."

"10-4," replies Melissa before I hang up. She never says good-bye.

"So, photo ops?"

"No photos at all. I'm still trying to get my head around being considered a celebrity simply for dating and being married to you. It's ridiculous."

"It's life. You're always going to find people who want to know how the other half live, especially if they're one percenters."

"One percenters?"

"Members of the top one percent of a population by wealth," he says shortly. "That's me, and, by marriage, now you."

"But it's your money!"

"Anastasia, the money is a part of me. Choosing me means choosing every part of me, for better or for worse."

"But-" I begin.

"Ana, please stop talking before I send you out to spend at least ten thousand dollars a day on lingerie until it gets through your very hard head that my money is your money. I know you didn't marry me for my wealth, but this is our life," he interjects. "I'm considered very visually appealing and have a fairly huge cock. I don't see you complaining or being ashamed of that. This is our life. I shouldn't have to apologize to you for being financially solvent!"

"I hate being accused of marrying you for your money."

"Stop comparing yourself to the aluminum digger."

"What?"

"Carla. Now that I have some inkling of how you grew up, I notice that you spend a lot of time trying to avoid comparisons to her. Rest assured, except for the few physical features you share, you're nothing like her. You have a good heart. She doesn't. She couldn't even succeed in gold digging. All of her husbands combined didn't earn what I paid in sales tax last year."

"You're kidding. That can't be accurate."

"I'm actually overestimating their income."

"You looked into her husbands' incomes. Who does that?"

"People like me who don't like surprises and can afford to prevent them. I've actually been going over our financials. You still have outstanding student loan debt. When are you going to pay it off?"

"Well, I've been paying a little towards it each pay period," I said.

"Can't you just pay it off all at once? We're getting reamed by interest, but it's not nearly enough to save on our taxes."

"I can't afford to pay all of that at once," I defended weakly.

"You, a billionaire's wife, can't afford to pay fifty thousand dollars? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? Think about how bad that makes me look! Even Cinderella moved away from the fireplace to live in the palace. You can't keep living like our money doesn't exist. It's embarrassing and insulting."

"I just wanted to do earn my education by myself!"

"You already did, unless I handed some other brunette your diploma. I have a solution. Add my name to all your worldly goods," he says.

"You want access to my checking account?" I squeaked.

"I want access to every part of you. But I'll start with that if that's what it takes to convince you that what's mine is yours and what's yours is mine. I didn't go up against a dozen attorneys before I proposed to prenup my wife and dole her out an allowance like a child!"

"I thought Carrick arranged that after the boathouse."

"That was Carrick's bright idea and it wasn't even original. I'm talking about the first proposal."

I don't understand. How could he have discussed me with his lawyers _before_ he proposed? I always thought he proposed out of desperation because he bathed that crazy whore after he kicked me out of my apartment.

"When did you discuss me with your lawyers?" I ask. I can't imagine when this could have occurred. We had barely reconciled when he proposed. Just how long had he planned for us to get married?

"The first time you were discussed was when the graduation photo was published," he said. "I wouldn't do that for just anyone. The meeting was called by them to protect my reputation if you were to sell info about my personal life for a payday or cry rape for a settlement. They knew I wouldn't willingly pose for a photo with a woman unless I was serious, since there were never any published before. I spent a half hour with my lawyers and my publicists over that. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted from you, but I wasn't going to let those assholes throw potshots at you over _my_ money."

Why do people treat that damn photo like it was the Holy Grail? I asked, "Over a picture?"

"How do you think I've managed never to get my photo taken, even with Elena?"

"Gag orders, I guess," I reply with a smirk. He does like his gags

"No. Even that wouldn't be enough if the rags really wanted to snap a shot of me. First, Elena is known as a very _old_ family friend, hardly newsworthy at all. She was generally pictured with my mother. Plus, I made sure to _never_ arrive or depart with _any_ woman including Ros. Flying her in Charlie Tango that time was an exception. What if we had both perished? The sharks would've been circling for sure. She has her team and I have mine. I usually take the red carpet to enter, and leave before the party's over. Also, I use security to keep a very wide space between other people and myself. Anyone pictured with me would look like a stalker or a groupie since they would barely make the peripheral of any photo."

"I understand that it would generate some interest, but this had lunatics crawling out of the woodwork."

"It wasn't just the photo; it was the pose. I was touching you in such a way that it couldn't be an accident. You had not twisted my arm. It wasn't a dare. In the photo from Rodriguez's art show, I was holding you next to my body and I identified you by name. Both photographers witnessed me pulling you into the picture and were verbal permission to photograph us. I gave them the legal release that Rodriguez didn't give you."

"When did you decide you wanted to marry me, if it wasn't that night in the apartment?" I asked curiously. I had to know. I couldn't believe it. This changes so many things.

"While you were gone, I did a lot of thinking, soul-searching, I guess. I even contemplated tearing out the playroom or getting rid of Escala entirely. I didn't want anything in my life that was going to keep you out of it. But then I decided to wait to hear your opinion. I was willing to do anything to keep you, so marriage was on the table two days after you left. I was desperate. The art show just gave me the first opportunity to see you without appearing to be begging."

Fuck me. I could've gotten rid of this place ages ago! I was slightly ashamed of myself that this was my first thought, especially considering I wasn't even living with him at the time. Why can't I ever just say what's on my mind instead of letting everything fester?

"So, the day after the show, I made another set of changes to the disposition of my property in case of death or debilitation, and the topic of my possible marriage arose. My lawyers already had some standard forms ready since they assumed that a marriage was in the works. Imagine their shock when they were told there would be no prenup. Imagine the sight of a conference room filled with slack-jawed Ivy League pencil pushers when I told them to fuck the paperwork. At least the prenuptial shit. Their expressions were priceless."

"Why? I figured you'd expect that since I came into the marriage with just a degree in Literature and unpaid student loans."

"It's true that I didn't want to go into our marriage planning for its end. But the most important reason is that I had weighed all the pros and cons and decided that the loss of half my net worth was an acceptable risk. I have billions of dollars; half of that is still billions. I could start over financially. If I did something that hurt you so badly that someone like _you_ would take my money and run, I would deserve to lose half my assets. Besides, didn't I tell you I wanted to give you the world?"

He was so earnest. He clearly means what he is saying. I have resisted his pampering because I don't want to be as useless as Carla or a trophy wife like Elena Lincoln. Troll Bitch is proof positive that idle hands are the Devil's workshop.

I never want to be a vapid society wife, though it would be nice not to worry about many of the things that come part and parcel of Christian's lifestyle. How does Grace do it? She maintains a beautiful home, keeps herself physically fit, has a thriving medical practice and chairs several charitable committees. I can barely manage _one_ job and I have no real social life.

"How does Grace do it? She has it all. She works, she has a beautiful family with successful, accomplished children and she runs Coping Together," I mused.

"You can't compare yourself to Grace. We moved to Seattle because Grace got offered her dream job. She's a doctor and her hours were worse than Carrick's and he is a lawyer. Sixty hour weeks were his norm, but he frequently worked longer to build his practice. He missed more events than he attended. Elliot, Mia and I had nannies and when we got old enough, tutors. It's rather tough to master a foreign language, practice a musical instrument and train in a martial art while attending school unless they are extracurricular activities."

There's always a moment where you get one key piece of information and everything falls into place. I had often wondered why, or even how, Christian managed to keep such a firm distance from his family. I have a very uncharitable moment towards Grace. Why the hell did she even adopt a special needs child if she wasn't going to put him first? I saw that picture; Christian didn't look four in that photo. He couldn't even pass for three, he was so emaciated and his haunted expression reminded me of the victims of shell shock or the commercials claiming you could feed a starving child for thirty cents a day. Did she think he was like a damn Chia pet or something? Just water it, and watch it grow? Did she think a few good meals and a battery of mental health professionals was going to heal him? Nein, non, nyet, nope.

She complained about not being able to even wash him, and talked about how self-sufficient he was; when did she try, between hospital shifts and schmoozing? Did she try more than once? There was bait-and-switch after all. Grace rescues Christian, only for the state to send him to the Colliers. When he and the Greys were reunited, they move to Washington for her career, and Christian ends up with a nanny. And then they adopted Mia. What the fuck were these people thinking?

I had envisioned something else entirely. I thought Grace was constantly attempting to break Christian out of his shell. I imagined a tranquil, nurturing sanctuary. Instead, he was just as neglected, even if the neglect was benign. I thought it touching and sweet that his first word was "Mia". Now, I wonder at the fact that it took him two years to speak and if he used his speech to lobby for his parents to take care of the crying baby. Did he imagine they would leave Mia to her own devices? Did Christian allow Mia to touch him because she was a baby, unable to hurt him, or was she the first person in the Grey household he trusted or even worse, spent enough time with which to bond? Considering the speed at which she runs into his arms (even now) and the unrelenting pressure of her hugs, the last thing you could accuse Mia of is gentleness. Though his sister still lives with the Greys, Christian still gives her an allowance. It actually explained Christian's rather strong opinions regarding my comfort and safety. If I had once thought of Taylor as avuncular, Christian was downright paternal in comparison.

CPoV

Anastasia looked stunned. She opened her mouth, then firmly closed it, biting her lip. She raised her hand and her fingers splayed out as if she was trying to make a point or ask a question. She was totally flummoxed by what I had said. She was less shocked when I admitted that I had fucked Elena.

Was she surprised at our upbringing? Most of our classmates grew up like that. At least Carrick and Grace remained married, unlike our peers who were often ping-ponged from house to house like hot potatoes because none of their parents wanted to be reminded of the old when they moved on to the new. We were just lucky Carrick never fucked any of our nannies or maids.

Her reaction makes me wonder if she would be willing to be a stay-at-home mother. I'm getting the impression that my mother's star has waned. Ana had no idea how demanding my parents were, or how busy they were. Or just how many of my cries for help or attention fell on deaf ears. Neither Carrick nor Grace ever noticed that over a fourth of his wine and spirits had vanished or that I was drunk off my ass almost every other day. I think that's part of the reason I started fucking Grace's good friend Elena to begin with. Sure, it was free pussy, but the five finger knuckle shuffle was working pretty well for me. The thrill of getting one over on my parents in addition to receiving an adult's somewhat undivided attention while getting my dick wet, however, proved too hard to resist. Carrick wanted to send me to military school; I'd seen the fucking papers in his office. The bastard had already completed the forms.

Then Grace had saved the day with her manual labor approach. How the fuck she figured mowing lawns and moving rocks was going to save me, I'll never know. Little did she realize that I was watering Elena's garden and getting my rocks off instead. I was happy to mow the Lincoln lawn after that because it was part of my cover story. Linc had one of the most beautiful lawns in the neighborhood. What fool would complain to his parents that they were sending him to get head and touch pussy all day when he wasn't wearing a ball-gag and counting to a hundred in French to avoid busting a load? Certainly not me!

Sure, there was a pain, but it worked. I had eventually felt as bad on the outside as I did on the inside, and strangely enough, it helped keep my mind clear of all the shit the shrinks kept confronting me with. She unleashed hell on my ass, and I blessed her for it. Her punishments diverted the pain away from my head. As far as I was concerned, my childhood was a total wash; Elena made me feel like a man.

Every once in awhile, I'd look at her, realizing she wasn't quite my type, but my type wasn't offering to fuck me hard or suck my cock. My type was afraid of the beast I could rarely rein in, frantically bubbling beneath the surface. The little girls had seen me decimate more than one contender for little more than brushing up against me in the halls; I even had a doctor's note excusing me from all contact sports. I was lifting weights, doing cardio and rowing while the other students wasted time being socialized. The good girls were waiting for college to fuck or get their MRS degrees. Others were either going steady or indiscriminately fucking everything with a dick. At least I knew where Elena's pussy had been (or so I thought). She always made time for me. She showed up at practically all my performances, competitions and rowing events. I guess she was making sure I wasn't going to the after-parties, and hooking up. Didn't matter; they weren't offering anything worth getting my cock caged over.

It's taken over a decade and Anastasia for me to understand Elena was a sham artist, fulfilling a need she created, and convincing me that I could never have anything better. Do I want my children to be vulnerable to the shit I fell for as a teen? Would it be wrong to ask Anastasia to protect our children by staying home and being accessible? Our money guarantees that our children will never have the same freedom of their peers, but they could still have a very rewarding life if Ana and I give them our all. I'm not going to lie; the lion's share of the work will go to Ana. I definitely don't want her to try to fucking emulate Grace; I love my mother very much, but if I wanted someone like her, I'd never have fucked Elena in the first place.

"Christian. I don't want our kids raised by nannies and tutors," she says tremulously.

"Then they won't be, but that will mean sacrifices. As much as I want our children to bond with us and have a solid foundation, I'm not going to step down at GEH so you can maintain a career that pays less than a hundred thousand a year just so you can feel like you're contributing. So how exactly do you envision that working?"

APoV

"So how exactly do you envision that working?" he asked seriously.

How did our night deteriorate into this? I didn't have a plan; I just knew that I didn't want to raise my kids the way I was raised. I knew I lucked out with Ray, but he worked very demanding hours attempting to keep Carla up in the manner to which she demanded to become accustomed. I never considered how far Grace had dropped the ball.

I lost quite a bit of respect for her now that I knew how uninvolved they were as parents considering they adopted three kids who had all lost their parents in one way or another. Their love for their children is obvious when I see them all together, but there are still many hours where we don't see them. Why adopt yet another child when it was clear Christian already needed all of the help he could get and they already had Elliot to consider? Would Elena have been able to get her talons into him if the Greys had one less child to monitor? Besides, to this day, despite all that he has accomplished, Christian still feels like the odd man out in his family.

Does he expect me to quit my job? I know it's nothing compared to his empire, but I worked very hard to get my degree and find a good job. I'd already sacrificed my dream of graduate school because of Carla. And now, even with all the money in the world at my fingertips, I know there's no way in hell Christian would want me to go back to college where I'd be surrounded by even more men he cannot control. I need something for myself, too!

"Well I thought that I would take maternity leave right before the babies were born like most other mothers with that privilege do," I stated. "GEH, and now GP, offers up to six months of maternity leave with full pay for recovery and bonding."

"Then what happens to the babies after those six months have elapsed?" he asks calmly.

"I don't know. I guess I assumed we would put them in a very good daycare."

Oh, fuck! Is he laughing?

"So you thought you'd put the biggest kidnap targets in Seattle in a daycare?" he asked. "Your salary would be less than the insurance rider. They also each need their own security, one for each baby and another hands-free CPO. There is no daycare safe enough, Anastasia and I think you know that. Is that why you were so anxious to abort them?" he asked harshly.

"I swear, Christian, I _never_ thought of that. _Never_. Not even once," I pleaded. I hadn't. I imagined leaving Christian and raising the child by myself. I thought of both of us (back when I thought it was just one baby) being discarded and replaced, but aborting a baby for my _convenience_ never played into my decision although I was distraught and temporarily insane enough to think I had to do it in order to save my marriage.

"Then you had to know that your life would never be the same after we got together," he explained patiently. "Even if there was no baby, didn't you realize what a high-profile person you were when the paparazzo tried to take your photo when you were taking a piss? It may let up eventually, but it will never truly stop. I haven't even accomplished all of my goals for GEH, so more wealth is coming our way. Despite what you think, I didn't just buy SIP because you worked there. It's just a small part of my M&A team's diversification objectives. I may have started with telecommunications, but I never planned to keep it there. My company is Grey Enterprise _Holdings_. My fingers are in a lot of pies, Anastasia."

Wow. I had a Scarlett O'Hara moment. He may as well have just declared he'll never go hungry again. It helps that he's bound and determined that no-one else will ever go hungry either, or he would sound like a pure megalomaniac. I always knew he was ambitious; I thought he was already the master of his universe. Apparently, there are still galaxies to conquer.

Living with Kate had spoiled me. I always considered the Kavanagh family as wealthy, but next to Christian, even they were paupers. Sure, Kate didn't run around with security, but that's just because I guess the true baddies were in search of bigger fish. If I felt like Little Orphan Annie to Kate, I must really seem like Oliver Twist compared to Christian.

"There it is. Without fail, whenever we discuss money, you get this look on your face. I worried you were some sort of reverse snob, but you're hypocrite on top of it. It probably started with the volumes of Tess I sent you," he mused. "How did you know how much they cost? Somehow I can't imagine you on Sotheby's bidding for first editions."

"Kate was with me when I got them. She told me how much they were worth, and I knew I couldn't accept a gift like that."

"So Kate told you? Why did it matter how much they were worth? Was I charging you for them?"

"No, you weren't charging me for them, but I knew I shouldn't accept a gift like that. I didn't want to owe you."

"Anastasia, there will always be people who make more money than their partners. It's a fact of life. Gwen makes far less money than Ros. My father makes more money than my mother. Eamon's name may still be on the letterhead, but the stockholders pretty much own Kavanagh Media. Mia's trust fund outstrips Ethan's by a mile. I know that you didn't even pay half the rent at either of your apartments with Kate. So why does it hurt you so much for me to take care of you?"

I felt trapped. Why did it make a difference? Did I feel less 'kept' since I cooked and cleaned at both apartments? Since I wasn't fucking Kate? I guess at least with Kate, I had the illusion of pulling my own weight. Why did she tell me how much the books were worth? She had to know how I would react; she had lived with me for almost four years. Long enough to know all I had was my pride and as soon as Christian showed me real attention, she said the one thing guaranteed to turn me off. I still had persistent memories of Three with my mother. He bought her lock, stock and barrel. His only mistake was believing he had purchased us both for the price of one. It's the reason I barely had any dates and that I went Dutch to all of them. I couldn't afford to owe a man anything I couldn't pay back. I had to tell him. Perhaps then he would understand.

"The last time a man took care of me, or pretended to, he attempted to rape me until I escaped to Montesano. Even though I worked several odd-jobs, he always made it sound like I was eating him out of house and home, although I bought my own clothes, paid for all of my school fees and groceries and cooked for everyone," I said in a rush, ripping off the band-aid.

He looked incredibly stricken. I bet that didn't turn up in his investigation. It's hard as hell to investigate a person who left a sparse paper trail. "He tried to attack me whenever Carla wasn't in commission. It's a good thing she's a good whore, or else I wouldn't have been a virgin when you met me. Apparently, even his standards were too high to fuck a teenager with broken ribs or arms," I stated in a monotone voice.

"How can you be in the same room or house with her now?" he yelled.

"I'm used to being in uncomfortable situations. It wasn't like when I saw her these past couple times she was letting Bob smack me around and curse me. Besides, she still owes me tens of thousands of dollars. I'm far more likely to recoup my losses in person."

"You'll take Carla's money, but not mine?" he asked. He still doesn't get it. It was never Carla's damn money in the first place. She stole every dime Ray sent for me and her fucked up husband took the money from the cards Ray sent me for my birthday and Christmas.

"The money that I've gotten from Carla is money she stole from me and Ray! She never spent any of my child support on me, not that I ever knew it existed until I got back home. I hardly had a bedroom bigger than one of your elevators when I lived with her! She stole my college fund! And she basically held me hostage because Ray never adopted me. So don't you think she owes me?" I asked, crying. He makes to reach for me and I back away until by back hits the wall. He doesn't get to do this crap! He had four terrible years, and except for some rather haphazard parenting by Grace and Carrick, he fell into a glory hole. He never had to worry about squirrelling away portions of his lunch for the days he couldn't eat any food in the kitchen because his mother burned it up trying to make a fucking gourmet dinner for an evil son-of-a-bitch.

I still don't think I've gotten over him selling Wanda from under me. If he'd truly read that fucking background check, he would know that I had very little to call my own to begin with. Even exchanging it for another car was fucked up, because if we ever broke up, I'd feel like an even bigger whore than all of the fifteen put together. It may not have been much, but it was something Ray sacrificed to give me. Is Christian the only person in the world who deserving of a modicum of pride?

Heck, if he decided to drop me right now, what the hell would I do? Take his money that I never wanted in the first place? I'd probably need a huge settlement anyway just for security since he outed me to the whole fucking universe. Even divorced, our babies and I would still be targets. Would've been nice to have a heads up about the true security issues _before_ prior to his proposal. Of course, I still would have said yes, but the world wouldn't be able to assume that Christian was making all the sacrifices. Instead, he gives me a car he won't let me drive and offers to give me a publishing house I don't know how to run. I was a Literature major and the biggest budget I'd ever balanced was my savings account.

Why did he choose _today_ to bring all of this crap into the open? Hasn't it already been fucked up enough? Murderous ex-bosses, fake and actual kidnap attempts plus men who either don't realize or care they're in the damn friend zone for a reason... All in less than a week!

I guess he calls himself ripping off a few bandages of his own, but couldn't he wait for my next appointment with Ericka to hash this shit out? I feel like we're skydiving without parachutes and I just want to disappear.

My phone rings again. Who the hell could be calling at this hour? Damn, it's Melissa! Guess it just sucks to be me tonight. "Mel? What is it?"

Christian looks up at me questioningly. He was startled by the call, too. "Ana, if you're not sitting down, please do so now," she instructs. Then she asks, "Would it be OK for you to put this call on speaker? I haven't liaised with Taylor yet. It's fucked up worse than normal, Ma'am."

I glance at Christian. It would be completely fair if I gave him the mushroom treatment he gives me. I sat down and proceeded to put the phone on speaker anyway. "We're both here, Melissa. Go ahead."

"Ma-Ana, I just got a tip from a friend of mine at the police station. I'd rather not say who it is as I might need this contact again. The person who bailed out Jack Hyde was Elena Lincoln. She must have a judge or two in her pocket. He shouldn't have qualified for bail based on his charges, especially since Mr. Grey had a team of lawyers blocking it. I'll liaise with Taylor after I send him my report."

Oh, clearly my day was just not nearly messed up enough. This shitty _pièce de résistance_ was waiting for me. How lovely. I look at Christian and he's a man on fire. I want to run around the room screaming, see? I was right! One short call has offered up a full platter of vindication. Would it be gauche to host an 'I Told You So' party? I wonder if Elena knew about the kidnap plot or if she just wanted to release the hounds on me and Christian. What? The bitter old hag can't have my husband and the Greys have blanked her, so it's alright to cause the Greys maximum damage?

I look up and Christian is in shock. I realize he has not spoken at all since the call. I attempt to move towards him and he's completely nonresponsive. I press a button near the dresser and call out for Taylor. In less than a minute, I hear footsteps running in our direction. He does move rather stealthily for such a large man, but I lived with Three. I could hear a mouse piss on cotton. He looks between Christian and I, but Christian's not talking.

"We've just received actionable intelligence that the Great Whore of Babylon paid Jack Hyde's bail, just in time for him to try to abduct Mia. Christian's been like this since we got the news. What are we supposed to do now?" I asked.

"What do you want us to do, ma'am?" He asks. Why the fuck is he asking me? Why isn't he reviving Christian?

"Why aren't you reviving my husband?"

"We have to wait for his to relax enough to be moved. If I was to touch him, he would attack with extreme prejudice."

So we're just supposed to just stand the fuck around twiddling our thumbs while my husband sits in this catatonic state? Well, fuck that! Too many people have been respecting his stupid fucking boundaries long enough. I'll just have to take my chances. If he hits me, I'll be the last person he hits.

"Come on, Christian," I begged, attempting to only touch his fingertips. There was no movement. I even recited my vows again, softly in his ear and nothing happened. Suddenly, I remember a brief conversation that took place after our brutal argument over our vows. He hates to talk about his birth mother, but the only good things he seems to associate with Ella are the memories of her baking him a chocolate cake and brushing her long hair. As much as he claims to hate her, I have my doubts since all of the subs he chose for himself were brunettes with long hair.

I get up and reach for the brush on the vanity, and release the few pins from my hair. I begin to slowly detangle my hair, gliding my fingers along my scalp, where a tension headache has begun brewing. Then I begin to brush my hair with leisurely strokes while humming a lullaby, very badly. Taylor is looking at me like I've lost my fucking mind, but doesn't attempt to interfere. Perhaps the intimacy of this scene made him uncomfortable, so he backs quietly out of the room. As he begins to close the door behind himself, out of nowhere Christian starts talking.

"Bad man gone, Mommy?"

What the natural fuck! I thought I would relax him by showing him something comforting. I wasn't prepared for this swift regression to toddlerhood. While I was still highly pissed at Taylor and the rest of his goons, but I wouldn't call him a bad man. Since he was finally talking, I was going to play along, God help me. I was going to burn in hell for this.

"Yes, the bad man is gone, Christian."

"Who Christian, Mommy?"

"Christian is you, baby," I replied gently.

"I Chris, silly," he corrected, smiling. Oh, hell. Just one more thing to add to the woodpile. I guess Ella was the only one allowed to shorten his name with impunity.

"The bad man is gone, Chris."

He walks towards me very slowly and carefully. He looks confused. I guess the last time he saw Ella, he was much shorter, but he towers over me. I walk over to the bed, and turn down the blanket. He looks at me strangely, then picks up the hairbrush from the vanity where I've discarded it.

"Mommy hair pretty."

"Yes, Chris. Make Mommy's hair pretty," I repeat, winging it in this strange, disastrous play.

He begins to brush my hair. He is brushing so softly and gently. I take a brief look behind me and his eyes are filled with child-like glee. I feel like crying. Minutes later, the brush slows down and I hear soft snuffling behind me.

"Chris sleepy, Mommy. Sleep wi' you," he pleads.

"Yes, Chris. Sleep with Mommy," I agree. I help him lay down and covered him up. Fuck! I'm touching him and nothing bad has happened except him slipping back two decades in time. I turn and rub his hair, brushing my fingers through his unruly locks. He wraps his arms around me like an octopus.

"Mommy smell good," he whispers, falling asleep. I slowly extricate myself from his arms, tears rolling down my cheeks, silent sobs wracking my body. This is the most vulnerable he's ever been. He's let me touch him, and touched me with neither flinch nor preparation, yet I was utterly disgusted by this. Elena could have used this shit to get into his head. Thank goodness she didn't know!

I wash my face and walk out of the room and bump into a wall of flesh. I look up, terrified. It's Taylor. Fucking ninja. I guess he never left.

"Mrs. Grey, that was either the dumbest or bravest thing I've ever heard in my life," he claimed.

"Maybe it was a little of both. Normally, I would've tried Flynn but there's a huge conflict of interest. Christian doesn't trust him like he used to."

"Like you no longer trust us?" he inquired.

"Why didn't you warn me that our security situation was so precarious? Why did you do that to me?" I whisper-shouted. "How could I trust you guys after this? You all left me hanging out to dry. Even Sawyer. I really liked him. He was nice."

"You're a survivor, Mrs. Grey. In our field, that can either be very good or very damn bad. You know we have your background report. I know about Rose Lambert, ma'am."

I reeled back in shock. I hadn't heard that name spoken by anyone else in a long time.

"Mr. Grey was terrified you were going to get killed, raped or abducted. Perhaps a combination of all three, and more. Look at the man in that bed and tell me you wouldn't do the same!"

"Why didn't he tell me all of this before?"

Taylor gives me a very knowing look and asked slyly, "Just like you told him all about your joyous months in Texas? Did you even last a whole year?"

"You had no right!" I cried out.

"With all due respect, ma'am, the fullness of your 'rights' doesn't outweigh a feather when you're dealing with someone like Grey. Christian Grey is a billionaire in a world where cash is king! There is no limit to the crazies. No-one who has walked into his life has a history I haven't sent through a centrifuge and studied under a microscope!"

"Not the Troll Bitch! How did she get past all of you all-knowing bad-asses?"

"What makes you think she escaped the treatment? We have files upon files on that woman, but until Mr. Grey let us act on our intel, she was golden! Do you think we relished the idea of giving her a pass?"

"So what happens to her now?" I ask. Surely this bitch doesn't think she's going to get away with this. Wake up, Christian, so you can handle this shit!

"We're awaiting your instructions."

Shut the front door! What the hell? _My_ instructions? "My instructions?" I ask stupidly.

"Yes, Mrs. Grey. As per protocol, while Mr. Grey is indisposed you're in charge." He stated confidently. At least someone is confident in this situation. "Surely you agree that Mr. Grey is incapacitated?"

I can't make Christian's decisions! What the heck was he thinking, putting me in charge? Don't you need to sign a lot of paperwork for that?

"Taylor, I can't be in charge. You've must have made a mistake. I don't remember signing any kind of forms that would allow me to make decisions for him!"

He retreats to his side of the apartment, then returns with a blood-colored leather portfolio. He directs me to the couch, taking a seat diagonally from me. I think I hear him mutter, "Why me?" as he opens the portfolio. He takes out several documents. I recognize some of the paperwork only it's missing all the little yellow sticky tabs from the time Christian had me sign all the forms we needed to get our marriage license. He asked me if I needed to read them, but people sign these types of forms every day to get married. I would have almost thought he was tricking me into signing a prenuptial agreement if he wasn't so dead-set against it.

Now I remember. I was so anxious to get out of Stepford Central that I just asked him where he needed my signature and I signed at all the X's he pointed out. I never bothered to look at the headings. The first document is very thick. It's a detailed listing of all of his assets. The second document is a durable power of attorney. Next is his living will. Then there is a copy of his actual will. A cursory glance at the contents chilled me to the bone. Except for some rather small bequests, the lion's share, the residue, of Christian's estate was left to me with trusts for any issue resulting from our marriage.

"Why do you have these, Taylor?" I asked. "Shouldn't they be in Christian's office?"

"This set of documents is one of many, ma'am. Mr. Grey's should still be in his office. If something were to happen to Mr. Grey, it's important for the succession of GEH to go off without a hitch. Tens of thousands of jobs are riding on its stability. Several key individuals have copies to head off any upheaval. You don't want to give the other wolves, vultures and hyenas time to pounce."

"He's going to be alright. This is totally unnecessary."

"He may be alright tomorrow, but at this moment, you're the boss. These are Mr. Grey's wishes. There are advisors, Ros, Welch, even Mr. Grey, esquire if you need them. Andrea is a godsend since she controls the calendar. If he wakes up fine in the morning, you won't need to use this information, but if he doesn't, this is your duty. It would have been much better if you had just taken over GP to get your feet wet, but this is how the cookie crumbled. Either way, you're his wife and therefore his next-of-kin. It would come down to you anyway, but since he put it down in black and white, there won't be a fight."

"If succession is so important, who was in charge when Charlie Tango crashed?" I asked. No-one seemed to be in charge. Everyone came to the apartment to commiserate with her, waiting for Christian's safe return.

"Mr. Grey wasn't officially missing for many hours. PR had already made their statements, but if push came to shove, and decisions needed to be made, the buck was always going to stop with you."

Christian. You controlling, trusting, infuriating man! What am I supposed to do with you? You were trying to bind me to you every way you could, weren't you? Didn't I tell you I'd prefer the debasement? This pedestal you've placed me is far too high and it's a long way down.

"Taylor," I began crisply, "Mrs. Lincoln had reason to believe she was bailing out a potential felon. Instead, she unleashed a monstrous sociopath, intent on murder and mayhem, on us. Let's make sure that soulless piece of trash doesn't recoup a dime of that money. I would assume that the bail has been revoked, but then again I also thought Jack was safely behind bars. Isn't there some way she could be charged for this? Conspiracy, negligence, something?"

Taylor gives me a proud look and says, "I'll get Welch and Barney on it right away, ma'am."

"You said that you had dirt on Elena. Would any of it send her to jail?"

"The things that would send her to jail, could bring a generous slice of Washington's elite down with her. And it wouldn't look good that Mr. Grey bankrolled the business that made it all possible."

My mind raced at the possibilities. I know Christian wouldn't willfully contribute to any operation that hurt children, but I always got the sense that he threw money at her to appease her in some way. As much as he clung to her at the beginning, she seemed to make him very uncomfortable, as if she got some pathetic kick out of keeping him on edge. Edging – mindfuck edition. Gifting her the salons gave her more money initially, but she was probably on the hook tax-wise. And this is Christian, after all. He 'gifted' me a car he barely lets me drive. I need someone to look at the paperwork he used to 'gift' Elena his shares of Esclava. He probably has enough red tape written into that contract to make a nawashi jealous.

Elizabeth Morgan had rented an SUV and they had what looks like a very expensive murder kit: firearm, chloroform, tranquilizers and GHB. Did Elena help finance the abduction, too? The golden goose cut her ass off and she just couldn't take no for an answer?

"I can't believe Elena Lincoln hasn't screwed the wrong person over, or at least someone who doesn't give a shit about his or her reputation. What does she have hanging over my husband's head?"

"Mrs. Lincoln has a great deal of leverage over your husband. She's hand-picked every 'woman' who ever came here and took rather keen interest in the smallest details of those arrangements. I never liked that. I also got the impression that there was more to their relationship than just business partners, especially since her subs all seemed to be the same age as the boss."

"Look into the judges that signed off on bail. If she had enough on them to get Jack released, their asses are ours now. Her leverage just became our leverage. I'm sure those judges have lives and wives. Any other day I'd hold my nose and ignore it, but what they did was beyond the pale. These bastards used their positions to help the troll hurt us, all to cover up who and how they fuck. Let their efforts be for nothing."

"If you do this, Mr. Grey's past might come out," Taylor warned.

"Well then. Do your job and make sure all those sub-witches adhere to their NDAs. You need to learn one thing about me: I am not my husband. I don't negotiate with terrorists. He's spent over a decade keeping his head down with that woman holding his leash; as long as she controls him, she controls me and that is unacceptable. Christian may be willing to have this hanging over his head, but I'm not."

A raspy voice from our bedroom tiredly interjects, "Ana's right, T. It's time to take the gloves off. I was a fool to think Elena would ever go quietly into that good night. The only thing she has over me is evidence that I had consensual, kinky sex."

Christian emerges from the room, taking a position directly behind me, sliding his arms around me. "My parents already know that she molested me when I was fifteen, and they didn't reject or disown me. Pretending I wasn't a victim has hurt my entire family. I can't let this hurt my children, too."

Taylor nods and walks away with his instructions. It's one o'clock in the morning and all is not well.

"So, Mrs. Grey. Kicking ass and taking names?" he whispers slyly.

"Yeah. Apparently, some deluded megalomaniac put me in charge."

"Topping from the bottom is your specialty. Who am I to keep a good woman down?"

"I'm sorry. Taylor told me I'd have to make all the decisions while you were incoherent."

"I'm not. Hearing you take control and stand up for us was pretty damn hot," he declared, pulling me back to our bedroom. When we reach the bed, he stops suddenly. "I had a good dream for once. I was brushing your hair. I forgot to braid it though."

"That sounds nice." I said, planning a morning call to Dr. Weiss to request an earlier appointment.

"You smell good, baby," he murmurs, while sliding off my robe and chemise. He rips my panties and pushes me onto the bed. He quickly disrobes, joining me.

He's caressing my hypersensitive breasts, tweaking my nipples until they become hard and elongated. Once he uses his talented fingers on my nub, scissoring them within me, I am lost to sensation. My last coherent thought of the evening was wondering if a person could die from multiple orgasms.

E/N: FF is STILL being terrible with reviews. Sometimes I cannot view or reply to any unless I PM the reviewers.

On my writing style: I know that I have problems with 1st and 3rd person. I've also always had trouble with parallel structure. I lost one reader because of that. I do apologize. Just be glad I use spellcheck and try not to depend too much on autocorrect. My beta catches most, but I'm set in my ways. Perhaps one day, I'll go back with a fine-tooth comb with a team of betas, pre-readers and editors and address all of these glaring errors…when writing is my full-time paying job. Until then, this is _fanfiction_ , not pay-per-fic.

About who bailed out Hyde. It just made more sense for it to be Elena. She's embezzled from Christian; she's lied to him. She stole his innocence and betrayed him in a myriad of ways. She manipulated him and his entire family. Elena could have told Linc, as she had most of the details of the crash and such via Grace that Linc couldn't have known, but Linc is an unknown quantity. There was no real reason for Linc to go after Christian, and him seeking vengeance after six or more years lends importance to Elena that she really doesn't deserve. Yes, I know revenge is a dish best served cold, but the only way I could see that would be if he was already dying or something. Linc never struck me as someone who would want spend his twilight years in jail. Replace Elena with a newer model, yes. Reside in the state pen, no.

Besides, everything we 'know' about Linc comes from Elena, who anyone would be a fool to trust. Elena, on the other hand, was already stalking Ana, confronting her at the Coping Together gala, sending her the note with a server, sending her the e-mail at her work address, showing up at CG's apartment when she must've suspected Ana would be there and finally the showdown at their engagement party. Where's Linc in all this drama? Absolutely nowhere to be found. As far as I am concerned, Linc dodged a bullet. Elena got caught red-handed and she got peanuts in the divorce. In canon, Christian retaliates for his wife and sister's abduction and Ana's assault by bankrupting Linc. The punishment in the book seemed less about Mia and Ana and more about getting one more over on Elena's ex-husband. We have to remember that CG had this bit of revenge in his back-pocket _way_ before he and Ana ever met.

Oh, and I found out that while both New Jersey (where Princeton is located) and Washington have the death penalty, there is a moratorium on carrying those sentences out. This means a sentence of life without the possibility of parole is our best bet for Hyde and Morgan in either state which they are convicted.

 _ **Guests**_ : I understand you may not always be able to login, but please leave your name or username so I can respond to your reviews. I don't want to be stuck moderating truly _anonymous_ guest reviews. I have been approving them indiscriminately, but that will stop.

Next post: Elena has a date with Destiny's cousin, Karma. Another outing with Patterson. Ana informs Ray about Jose's stalking and subsequent attack. CG discovers something naughty in Anastasia's search history.

As always, teasers for new chapters are at FSoG Fanfic Obsessed FB.

Feel free to swim on over.  
Thank you for reading.  
Nichole Stewart FB


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